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CQEmiGifr DEPosm 



THE CHAMPION 



By THOMAS LOUDEN and A. E. THOMAS 




SAMUEL FRENCH, 24-30 West Sfith Si., New York 



The Touch-Dbwn 

A comedy in four acts, by Marion Short. 8 males, 6 females, but 
any number of characters can be iatroduced in the ensembles. Cos- 
tumes modem. One interior scene throughout the piaj. Tine, 2^ 
hours. 

This play, written for the use of clever amateurs, is the story of 
life in Siddell, a Pennsylvania co-educational college. It deals with 
the vicissitudes and final triumph of the Siddell Football Eleven, and 
the humorous and dramatic incidents conaected therewith. 

"The Touch-Down" has the true varsity atmosphere, college songs 
are sung, and the piece is lively and entertaiaing throughout. High 
schools will make no mistake in producing this play. We strongly 
recommend it a« a high-class and well-written comedy. 

Price, 30 Cents. 

Huny^ Hurry^ Hurry 

A comedy in three acts, by LeRoy Arnold- 5 males, 4 females. 
One interior scene. Costumes modern. Plays 2}< hours. 

The story is based on the will of an eccentric aunt. It stipulates 
that her pretty niece must be affianced before she is twanty-one, and 
married to her fianc^ within a year, if she is to get her spinster 
relative's million. Father has nice notions of honor and fails to tell 
daughter about the will, so that she may make her choice untram- 
mcled by any other consideration than that of true love. The action 
all takes place in the evening the midnight of which will see her 
reach twenty-one. Time is therefore short, and it is hurry, hurry, 
hurry, if she is to become engaged and thus save her father from 
impending bankruptcy. 

The situations are intrinsically funny and the dialo^e is sprightly. 
The characters are natural and unaffected and the action moves with 
a snap such as should be expected from its title. Price, 30 Cents. 

The Varsity G)adi 

A three-act play of college Kfe, by Marion Short, specially adapted 
to performance by amateurs or high school students. 5 males 6 
females, but any number of boys and girls may be introduced in the 
action of the play. Two settings necessary, a college boy's room and 
the university campus. Time, about 2 hours. 

Like many another eoSege boy, "Bob" Selby, an all-round popular 
college man, becomes possessed of the idea that athletic prowess is 
more to be desired than scholarsh^). He is surprised in the midst of 
a "spread" in his room in Regatta week by a visit from his aunt 
who IS putting htm through college. Aunt Serena, "a lady of the old 
school and the dearest littre woman in the whole world," has hastened 
to make this visit to her adored nephew under the mistaken impression 
that he is about to receive the Fellowes prixe for scholarship. Her 
grief and chagrin when she learns that instead of the 'prize Robert 
has received "a pink card," which is equivalent to suspension for poor 
scholarship, gires a touch of pathos to an otherwise jolly comedy of 
ecdlege life. How the repentant Robert more than redeems himself, 
earrics off honors at the last, and in the end wins Ruth, the faithful 
littic sweetheart of the '*Pr«m" and the classroom, makes a story of 
dramatic interest and brings out very clearly certain phases of modern 
eoUege Ufe. There are several opportUDtties for the introduction of 
«(»llc«e stngs aiad "stunts." Price, 30 Cents. 

(Th* Ab«ve Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
SAMUEL PRBNCH, 28-30 West 38th Street. New York aty 

Nmi mi Explicit Dfscri|)tivs Cataloeue Mailad hti se Xsiniffil 



THE CHAMPION ,/r» 



mt^ 



A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 

BY 
THO:\IAS LOUDEN 

AND 

A. E. THOMAS 



Copyright^ 1922, by Samuel French 
All Rights Reserved 



CAUTION — Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned 
that "The Champion," being fully protected under the 
copyright laws of the United States of America and 
Great Britain, is subject to a royalty, and anyone pre- 
senting the play without the consent of the authors or 
their authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by 
law provided. Applications for the acting rights must 
be made to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, 
New York, N. Y. 



New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 

28-30 West 38th Street 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 



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Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French 



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Especial notice should be taken that the possession of 
this book without a valid contract for production first 
having been obtained from the publisher, confers no right 
or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play 
publicly or in private for gain or charity. 

In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading 
public only, and no performance, representation, produc- 
tion, recitation, or public reading may be given except by 
special arrangement with Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th 
Street, New York. 

This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment 
of a royalty of Twenty-Five Dollars for each perform- 
ance, payable to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, 
New York, one week before the date when the play is 
given. 

Whenever the play is produced the following notice must 
appear on all programs, nrinting and advertising for the 
play: "Produced by special arrangement with Samuel 
French of New York." 

Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for 
any infringement of the author's rights, as follows. 

"Section 4966 : — Any person publicly performing or rep- 
resenting any dramatic or musical composition for which 
copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the 
proprietor of said dramatic or musical composition, or his 
heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, 
such damages, in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not 
less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dol- 
lars for every subsequent performance, as to the court 
shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and 
representation be wilful and for profit, such person or 
persons shall be^ guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon con- 
viction shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one 
year." — U. S. Revised Statutes: Title 60, Chap. '\. 



CiD 63029 
••• : 

DEC -8 "22 



The following is a copy of the playbill of the first per- 
formance of "The Champion" at Longacre Theatre, New 
York, Monday evening, January 3rd, 1921. 

SAM H. HARRIS 
PRESENTS 

"THE CHAMPION" 

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 
BY 

THOMAS LOUDEN and A. E. THOMAS 

Staged under the direction of Sam Forrest 

CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Jane Burroughs (William's Mother) .. .Lucy Beaumont 

Mary Burroughs ( Younger Sister) Rosaliyid Fuller 

John Burroughs {Father) Arthur Elliott 

George Burroughs {Elder Brother) Frank Westerton 

David Burroughs ( Youriger Brother) Gerald Hatner 

Lady Elizabeth Galion Ann Andrews 

Lord Brocklington Gordon Burby 

William Burroughs Grant Mitchell 

Antoinette Desirce Stempel 

Simmons Robert Williamson 

Mr. Mooney Robert Lee Allen 

Mr. Coykendall Harold Hoivard 

Earl of Chuffleigh Horace Cooper 

Marquis of Harroween Robert Ayrton 

Baron Hollovvay Robert Warwick 

Mayor of Knotley A. P. Kaye 

Frank Smith Tom Williams 



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SYNOPSIS OF SCENES 

Act 1—Sitting room in house of Mr. Burroughs, 

Knotley, England. 
Act ll^Same Scene. 
Act III — Same Scene. 



THE CHAMPION 



ACT I 

Scene : Sifting room in house of Mr. Burroughs, 
Knotley, England. The French windows at hack 
are open. Through them can he seen the gar- 
den. There is a door r. which leads into the 
hall and so to the hall door of the house. Door 
L. leads to the other rootns of the house. Fire- 
place down R. and before it is a large, conspicu- 
ous rug. Table R.c. zvith telephone and books. 
Chairs R. and L. of table. Large couch l. be- 
hind which is an old-fashioned square grand 
piano. Pictures on walls and console fable and 
chairs at back R. and l. 

When curtain rises if is late evening on a 
summer day. 

Mrs. Burroughs is discovered on sofa read- 
ing a hook. A basket of needlework on the 
piano. 

(Enter Mary c. from garden. She is a changing 
young girl of seventeen or thereabouts.) 

Mary. Ah ! Mother ! 
Mrs. Burroughs. Is that you, Mary? 
Mary. Are you reading here in the dark? 
Mrs. Burroughs. It is nearly dusk, isn't it, 
dear? 

Mary. Mother, you'll ruin your eyes. (She goes 
7 



8 THE CHAMPION 

to electric light switch at hack and switches on the 
rest of the lights.) 

Mrs. Burroughs. Where have you been, dear? 

Mary. Over at the Rectory. And, Mother, Mrs. 
Archer gave me this letter for you, 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh! 

Mary. She told me I v^as to say that it came a 
week ago, but that she kept it, knowing you were 
visiting Aunt Lydia. 

Mrs. Burroghs. Yes, dear — yes. (She opens it 
rather furtively and reads it as Mary rattles on.) 

Mary. Mother, why should Mrs. Archer get your 
mail? (Pause.) Is it important? (Pause.) Can't 
you tell me, Mother 

Mrs. Burroughs. (Starting) Oh! 

Mary. What is it, Mother? 

Mrs. Burroughs. He's coming home! He's 
coming home! 

Mary. Who's coming home? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Your dear brother Willie. 

Mary. My brother Willie? Just think. Mother, 
I've never seen him. 

Mrs. Burroughs. You saw him, dear, when you 
were a child, but you can't remember him. 

Mary. (Sits on sofa l.) And is that letter from 
him? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Yes. 

Mary. But I don't understand. Why should it 
come through Mrs. Archer? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, of course — ^you don't 
know, do you? 

Mary. Know what. Mother ? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Well, I think I'll just have to 
tell you. You're old enough to understand now — 
and it will be a relief. I just hate keeping a se- 
cret 

Mary. A secret! Oh, Mother! How wonder- 
ful! 



THE CHAMPION 9 

Mrs. Burroughs. — and I've had to keep this 
one for a long, long time. Your brother Willie ran 
away. 

Mary. Mother ! 

Mrs. Burroughs. Yes — ^but it was when you 
were very little. 

Mary. But why? Why? 

Mrs. Burroughs. He couldn't get on with your 
father. 

Mary. Oh, I can understand that. 

Mrs. Burroughs. I don't altogether blame him. 
He was only a lad. One night he just disappeared, 
and when I came down in the morning I found his 
good-bye note on the breakfast table. It was fifteen 
years ago. 

Mary. But about Mrs. Archer 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, yes — well — he knew 
there'd be trouble with your father if he knew I 
heard from him, so he just wrote to Mrs. Archer 
and asked her to give his letters secretly to me. 

Mary. And youVe been hearing from him all 
this time and no one knew it? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Yes, dear. 

Mary. (Gleefully) Just think how angry father 
would be. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, I know it looks very 
wrong of me — your father was so angry when 
Willie ran away — washed his hands of him for good 
and all — forbade all of us to hold communication 
with him. 

Mary. Have you told George and David ? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, no — no — and you mustn't, 
either — not a word. 

Mary. And now he's coming home. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Yes. He doesn't say just 
when, but he says it will be very soon. 

Mary. What's he do? What's his business? 

Mrs. Burroughs. He says he's an attorney, but 



lo THE CHAMPION 

rm told that's what Americans say when they mean 
barrister. American slang, I suppose. 

Mary. Oh, do tell me some more — it's so excit- 
ing. I want to know all about him. 

(Voice is heard off right,) 

Mrs. Burroughs. Hush, dear, hush, not a word, 
mind. 

(Enter George Burroughs, followed by Mr. Bur- 
roughs; Burroughs is a fat, pompous, domi- 
neering man of sixty. George is a thin, anemic 
Briton of thirty-two or thirty-three with the 
monocle habit.) 

George. Fm inclined to agree with you, pater. 
The working classes are getting altogether too promi- 
nent! 

Burroughs. (Taking up what is evidently his 
customary pose on the hearth rug, with his news- 
paper) It really is too silly— altogether objection- 
able, in my opinion, — all this encouragement of the 
lower classes to take up sports — it simply leads them 
on to bet and drink — that's the long and short of it. 

George. It's not as if the proletariat stood in 
need of exercise, either. It's got work enough to 
do. Heaven knows! 

Mary. (Taking election poster from piano) 
Mother, I'm going to pin George's election poster 
on the wall. (Gets pins from Mrs. Burroughs. 
Puts up poster.) 

Burroughs. Within three days, George's photo- 
graph will adorn every blank wall in Knotley. 

(Enter David. He is a few years younger than 
George and he wears the clerical uniform of 
the Church of England. He enters from c. 
with a letter in his hand,) 



THE CHAMPION ii 

David. Letter for you. Gov'nor. (Gives it to his 
father.) 

Burroughs. A coronet! 

George. By Jove ! 

Burroughs. The Earl's crest, Jane. I heard he 
was in Knotley. I wrote and asked him to take pot- 
luck with us to-night. 

Mrs. Burroughs. How nice ! Tm all in a flut- 
ter! 

George. What's his Lordship say, Pater? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Do read it, John. 

Burroughs. (Gloomily) I have read it. 

Mary. (Crosses to him) Yes, Father, but we 
haven't. 

Burroughs. (Reads) "Sir — I cannot take pot- 
luck with you to-night. Chuffleigh." 

David. It sounds almost rude. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Doesn't he even thank you for 
your kind invitation? 

Burroughs. "Sir — I cannot take pot-luck with 
you to-night." (Mary giggles.) What are you 
laughing at? 

Mary. (Business. Goes up stage.) Maybe the 
Earl isn't hungry. 

Burroughs. I cannot understand it. I have ex- 
erted myself in every conceivable way to be as 
agreeable as possible to his Lordship — all to no 
effect. On the street he barely nods to me — and 
now — this. It's too much. It's decidedly too much. 
(He crumples up the note and throzvs it in fireplace.) 

George. (Sitting l. of table) It's a thousand 
pities — especially now that Lady Elizabeth is visit- 
ing us. 

Mrs. Burroughs. It would have been nice — the 
daughter of a Marquis and the Earl of Chuffleigh — 
both at our table together. 

Burroughs. It would have been gratifying — ex- 
tremely gratifying. 



12 THE CHAMPION 

Mary. I don*t know what you all see in that 

funny little man. 

Burroughs. Child, be quiet and allow your eld- 
ers to judge. Social ambition is most praiseworthy. 
As you know, it is my earnest hope that when George 
is elected to Parliament, Lady Elizabeth will con- 
sent to become his wife. 

Mary. Dear Lady Elizabeth — she's awfully poor, 
isn't she? 

Burroughs. An alliance of wealth and rank. 
What could be more suitable ? What, indeed ? 

Mary. (Crosses to George j George, have you 
asked her? 

George. Certainly not! And I don't intend to 
till after I'm elected. 

(Dressing gong sounds. George rises and exits R.j 

Burroughs. The dressing gong. It's late to- 
night. Really, Jane! 

Mrs. Burroughs. I'm so sorry, John. 

Burroughs. I trust it will not occur again. 

Mrs. Burroughs. I'll speak to Simmons. 

Burroughs. Come, we must dress for dinner. 

Mary. Mother — David's the lucky one. He 
doesn't have to dress. 

Mrs. Burroughs. And he would look so nice in 
evening clothes. 

David. Posibly so, Mother, but I fear I should 
look something worldly, too. 

(Exit Mrs. Burroughs l.j 

Burroughs. Let's have no nonsense of this sort. 
A clergyman should always wear clerical clothes. 
Mary. Except in bed, perhaps? 
Burroughs. Quite so. 



THE CHAMPION 13 

(Burroughs exits r. and Mary exits l. David 
crosses to r. Enter Lady Elizabeth and Lord 
Brockington from garden c. They are both 
in riding clothes.) 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, David 

David. Ah, Lady Elizabeth. 

Lady Elizabeth. This is my cousin, Lord Brock- 
ington. The Reverend David Burroughs, Freddy. 

Brockington. How are you? 

David. How d'ye do, my Lord? 

Lady Elizabeth. My cousin is visiting in the 
neighborhood and we just happened to meet. I'm 
glad we found you here. A little more clerical so- 
ciety wouldn't do Freddy a bit of harm. (Crosses 
over to L.) 

David. Sweet of you to say so; I'm sure my 
mother would be charmed if you will stay and dine 
with us, my Lord. 

Brockington. Thanks, but I really must toddle. 
Just want a word or two with my cousin. 

Lady Elizabeth. You see. Lord Brockington is 
not only my cousin, but he's the trustee of my es- 
tate — that is — he would be if there were any estate. 

David. Of course, if you're on business you will 
excuse me. 

Brockington. Certainly. 

David. Quite sure you won't stay to dinner? 

Brockington. Quite. 

David. Another time, perhaps. 

Brockington. Perhaps. 

David. Er — er — charmed. (Exit David r. 
Brockington laughs loudly.) 

Brockington. Really, Betty — to find you actu- 
ally visiting these blighters. 

Lady Elizabeth. Freddy, I'll thank you not to 
speak of my hosts like that. 



14 THE CHAMPION 

Brockington. Couldn't imagine what had be- 
come of you. How long have you been here? 

Lady Elizabeth. About a fortnight. 

Brockington. I hate to think of you in a place 
like this, and really, I've got to think about you. 

Lady Elizabeth. I should be better pleased if 
you'd think about getting an income for me out of 
my property. 

Brockington. Wish I could, but you can't get 
blood out of a stone. 

Lady Elizabeth. People do get silver out of 
silver mines ! 

Brockington. That's the trouble. They've got 
it all out of yours — about the time your lamented 
papa invested his last shilling in it. 

Lady Elizabeth. (Sits on couch) Poor old 
dad ! Why on earth did he do it ? 

Brockington. Why, it was just a last gamble. 
He was all in, anyhow. (Sits.) 

Lady Elizabeth. And he thought that he had 
provided for me. But the mine did pay dividends 
for a time. 

Brockington. Oh, yes — just long enough to get 
the gullibles in. 

Lady Elizabeth. You really think there is no 
hope? 

Brockington. Not a particle. Didn't I travel 
all the way to Mexico as your trustee to look into 
the matter? — and a rotten trip it was, too. No, my 
dear, I got the best engineers in America and they 
all agreed the mine's worked out. 

Lady Elizabeth. (Rises and crosses to c.) 
Well — that being the case, there is nothing left for 
me to do but to continue in my present engagement. 

Brockington. What engagement? You don't 
mean to say you're working? (Lady Elizabeth 
nods. Brockington rises.) What! 



THE CHAMPION 15 

Lady Elizabeth. I must have clothes, and a 
roof over my head — and I must eat ! 

Brockington. But good heavens, haven't I 
offered to marry you? 

- Lady Elizabeth. Well, it's awfully good of you, 
Freddy — but I'd rather sell my talents than my- 
self. 

Brockington. And may I ask what talents you 
are selling? 

Lady Elizabeth. I am a social chaperone. 

Brockington. Good Heavens ! 

Lady Elizabeth. Shocking, isn't it? 

Brockington. You mean you are going to boost 
these people into society? 

Lady Elizabeth. Tm going to try. (Cross to 

R.; 

Brockington. Ha! This is rich — dashed rich. 
So you're going to teach 'em not to drop their h's or 
use the fish-forks with the roast beef. ("l. of table.) 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, they're not that sort of 
outsiders. 

Brockington. No? 

Lady Elizabeth. Not at all. The mother's a 
darling and the little girl is a perfect dear. I merely 
allow it to be known that I am visiting them, and I 
tell them the proper charities to subscribe to — the 
proper places to be seen in — advise them as to tail- 
ors, modistes, miUiners and so on. Presently I shall 
take them to call on some good-natured friend of 
mine — Gladys Somersby, for example. I know she 
won't mind. The poor dear is as broke as I am. I 
daresay Gladys will even return their call if I ask 
her, and — well — one thing will lead to another — I 
shall at least get them into the fringe of society. Oh, 
I don't say I like it, but I don't like starving, either. 
(Sits R.; 

Brockington. ("l. of table) There's still one 
more way. 



i6 THE CHAMPION 

Lady Elizabeth. Is there? 

Brockington. Yes — marry me. 

Lady Elizabeth. Freddy! 

Brockington. You don't dislike me — do you? 

Lady Elizabeth. No. 

Brockington. In love with anybody else? 

Lady Elizabeth. No. 

Brockington. Then why not take me up? You 
can't stick to this sort of thing. You know it makes 
you sick. Come now, doesn't it? 

Lady Elizabeth. It's not exactly pleasant. 

Brockington. Well, then, say yes. 

Lady Elizabeth. No. 

Brockington. No? 

Lady Elizabeth. Yes. 

Brockington. Which is it, Betty? 

Lady Elizabeth. No. 

Brockington. You're making a grave mistake. 

Lady Elizabeth. Perhaps. 

Brockington. You'll be sure to regret it. 

Lady Elizabeth. Perhaps. 

Brockington. Betty 

Lady Elizabeth. Don't think I don't appreciate 
your offer — I do — but it's like this — I don't happen 
to love you. 

Brockington. But we could jog along very com- 
fortably. 

Lady Elizabeth. No, Freddy, it's too big a 
risk. 

Brockington. I'll chance it if you will. 

Lady Elizabeth. (Rises) No, it's no good. 
(Brockington crosses to l.) It's no good! 

Brockington. So — I am thrown into the dis- 
card. 

Lady Elizabeth. Don't put it like that. 

Brockington. Well, that's the long and short of 
it. Ha! So this is the end of all my planning — 
all my patience — to be chucked out like this. 



THE CHAMPION 17 

Lady Elizabeth. Draw it easy, old man. 
Brockington. Ha! So this is the finish! 

(Enter David. Crosses slowly to r.c. j 

Brockington. Betty, shall I tell you what you 
are — you're a beggar on horseback. 

Lady Elizabeth. Freddy! 

Brockington. Yes, my girl. That's what you 

are — a beggar on horseback, and some day 

(Sees David.) Well, sir? 

David. (To BrockingtonJ Sorry you can't 
stay to dinner, Lord Brockington. 

Brockington. Good evening, Lady Elizabeth. 
(To DavidJ Good evening. (Exit c. to l.) 

David. So, that's your cousin? 

Lady Elizabeth. Yes — that's cousin Freddy. 

David. Well, one can't help one's relatives. 

Lady Elizabeth. (On couch L.j No, and one's 
relatives can't help one — or won't. Oh, never mind 
him. Where's everybody? 

David. Gone to dress for dinner. 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, yes — you don't have to, 
do you? 

David. No. 

(Enter William c. from ir.) 

David, (r.) Daresay you're right — though I 
never thought of it before. I daresay you're right. 

William. Of course she's right — if I may say 
so. 

David. Well! 

William. Quite well — thanks, lovely evening, 
isn't it? I'll say so. Charming sunset. I suppose 
you're David. Heard you'd entered the Church — 
see you're wearing the uniform. 



i8 THE CHAMPION 

David. Who are you, sir ? By what right do you 
intrude like this? 

William. Ever read about the prodigal son? 

David. Really, sir — I must 

William. Sorry — beg pardon — of course you 
have — being a clergyman. Well, I'm him — he, I 
mean — the prodigal son of the family, and Fve 
come back. Funny thing about prodigals — they al- 
ways come back. (To Lady Elizabeth^ Perhaps 
you've noticed it, eh? 

Lady Elizabeth. Can't say I have. 

William. Possibly you haven't known many 
prodigals. 

Lady Elizabeth. Yes, I have — but those I've 
known always stayed at home. Everybody wished 
they'd go, but they never did. 

William. Well, I followed the Biblical example. 
I did go — but now I'm back. 

Lady Elizabeth. Then you are one of the fam- 
ily? 

William. You guessed it. I'll say so. I'm the 
Reverend David's very unreverend brother. 

David. What ! 

Lady Elizabeth. Really? (To David) Why, 
David, you never told me you had another brother. 

William. Hush, hush — don't start anything. 
You see, I'm the sort of thing one doesn't speak of. 
I'm the picture that is turned toward the wall. 

Lady Elizabeth. The picture that is 

William. Sure — exactly. I am the blot on the 
'scutcheon — the family skeleton — don't you see? 
Hear my bones rattle? Funny I should blow in 
like this, isn't it? I disappeared through that iden- 
tical window fifteen years ago. (Offers his hand 
to David udth a genial smile.) Shake, Dave ! How 
are you? (David stares at him blankly.) Oh, Vm 
William, all right— Willie—dear old Bill. 

David. I — I — don't believe it. 



THE CHAMPION 19 

William. (With a chuckle to Lady Elizabeth) 
Doesn't know his own brother. Well, it's not 
strange. He wasn't very big when I dug out. Well, 
I'll have to try and convince him, I suppose. Dave 
— do you remember the day Farmer Squeers caught 
you stealing his apples and had you over his knee, 
and I heard you squealing, and 

David. No, sir, I recall no such occurrence. 

William. All right, then. Have to try again. 
Let me see. Do you remember the time you upset 
grandmother's bee-hive ? 

David. Yes — I do remember that. 

William. (Delighted — to Lady Elizabethj 
Ah, I thought he wouldn't forget that. I tell you, 
Miss — er — I didn't quite catch the name? 

Lady Elizabeth. I am Elizabeth Galton. 

William. Er — thanks — as I was saying. Miss 
Galton 

David. Lady — Lady Elizabeth Galton, if you 
please. 

William. (Lady Elizabeth sits on couch -l.) 
As I was saying about those bees. Lady Elizabeth, 
the real way to make a man remember you is to sting 
him. He may forget the benefits, but he always 
remembers the stings. So you see, David, I really 
am your brother Bill who ran away and has come 
home again. Gee ! Old man, but I'm awfully glad 
to see you. (He seizes the reluctant hand of David 
and wrings it heartily, David writhes with pain.) 
What appears to be the matter? 

David. Why — er — ^why have you come home 
again? 

William. To see the folks — ^to see the folks — 
Heaven and earth, why not ? 

David. This will be a dreadful shock to my 
father and mother. 

William. Look here now, they're my father and 
mother, too, you know. I'll risk it, if you will 



20 THE CHAMPION 

David. But it's so surprising — so unexpected. 

William. Well, Til tell you — I meant to walk 
right up and pull the old bell, but when I saw the 
house I found I'd lost the front-door habit. Coming 
up the drive, I suddenly felt — well — just like a bad 
boy who had stayed out all night — and was going to 
get the dickens for it. 

Lady Elizabeth. Well, you had stayed out all 
night, hadn't you? 

William. I'll say so. I thought it would be 
sort of droll to come back through that same old 
window. It is rather amusing, isn't it? (They 
laugh.) 

Lady Elizabeth. Very. 

David. I think — it's very disturbing. 

William. You seem to be a little weak on the 
humorous side, don't you? Still I do think you 
might be a little glad to see your long-lost brother. 

David. Oh, of course, I am glad. 

William. Well, look it, look it — for God's sake, 
look it ! 

David. Of course, I'm awfully relieved to know 
you're alive and all that sort of thing. 

William. Oh, yes, I'm alive and kicking — ^at 
least I'm alive and you're kicking. 

David. But it's really most disturbing. 

William. Why, what's the matter — aren't they 
all well? 

David. Oh — ^yes — ^yes. 

William. That's fine. And now perhaps you'll 
go and break it to father. Be gentle with him — 
they say that joy doesn't kill — but we mustn't take 
any chances. 

David. You should have thought of that before. 
Why didn't you write? 

William. Because he might have forbidden me 
to come and you know how I always hated to dis- 
obey him. I always did it, but I hated it. 



THE CHAMPION 21 

David. I — I really don't know what to do. 

William. That's why Tm telling you. Ah, go 
along, like a good fellow. (He takes David hy the 
arm and propels him to the door at r.) Come, come, 
he can't do anything to you. You didn't bring me 
here, you know- 



David. But really I 

William. Oh— that's all right— that's all right. 
(He pushes David through door r.) 

Lady Elizabeth. (Sitting on couch l.) I see 
you know how to manage the clergy. 

William. No — only small brothers. (There is 
a pause.) 

Lady Elizabeth. You can't quite place me here, 
can you? 

William. Well, not quite. 

Lady Elizabeth. I'm just a visitor. 

William. Friend of the family? 

Lady Elizabeth. Why, I suppose so. 

William. Not — er— engaged to anybody here- 
abouts ? 

Lady Elizabeth. No — not yet. 

William. Er — you'll pardon my abruptness? 

Lady Elizabeth. Of course. 

William. You see, I'm an American now and 
Americans go straight to the point. Now, I'd like 
to get my bearings about the old place, and so — 
er 

Lady Elizabeth. Of course. Ask me anything 
you please. 

William. That's bully of you. (Takes chair 
from L. of table r. to c. and sits facing Lady Eliza- 
beth, j Now, tell me, Lady Elizabeth — what kind 
of a lady are you? 

Lady Elizabeth. In me you see a poor but hon- 
est noblewoman — daughter of the Marquis of Duns- 
borough, lately deceased in a state of poverty only 
to be described as pitiable. The only bit of luck 



22 THE CHAMPION 

I've had lies in the fact that I did not inherit my 
father's debts — my brother did that» poor fellow. 
Pretty rough on him. 

William. I didn't mean to be inquisitive. 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, that's all right. All Eng- 
land knows it — why shouldn't you? 

William. Well, then, tell me — you know my 
people awfully well, I suppose. 

Lady Elizabeth. Not very. 

William. You know them better than I do — at 
all events. Tell me about them. 

Lady Elizabeth. Well — ^you'll like your sister. 

William. God bless my soul ! That'll be Mary. 
Almost a woman, isn't she ? Good Lord ! 

Lady Elizabeth. She's a darling. 

William. (Delighted) You don't say so ! 

Lady Elizabeth. I do say so. 

William. Is she dark or fair? 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, dark — with big, soft 
brown eyes. 

William. You don't say so! 

Lady Elizabeth. I do say so. 

William. Big or little? 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, quite petite — and gentle. 
Oh, she's a lamb. 

William. You don't say so! 

Lady Elizabeth. Why do you keep saying I 
don't say so when I do say so ? 

William. I don't know. Silly, isn't it? Well, 
well, that's fine. I hoped she'd be nice. Kind of 
thought she would. She was a sweet baby, but then, 
so was I — and look at the darn thing now ! (Laughs.) 

Lady Elizabeth. Now that I think of it, your 
sister looks a little like you. 

William. God help her. I suppose you live in 
London ? 

Lady Elizabeth, Oh, yes — part of the year. 

William. Pretty good place, London — not as 



THE CHAMPION 23 

fine as New York, of course — but not bad. Can't 
see what you're doing in a place like Knotley, when 
you might be in London. 

Lady Elizabeth. You'll see soon enough. 

William. (Rises and walks back of stage) 
Sleepy old place. When Gabriel blows his trumpet 
the sleepers of Knotley are surely going to regard it 
as an impertinence. Sleepy, conservative, monoton- 
ous, dusty, beautiful old place. Nothing seems to 
have changed much since I left the place, as a boy. 
(Looks round the room.) Might have left it only 
yesterday. Crept downstairs in the middle of the 
night — what do you suppose was the last thing I 
did? 

Lady Elizabeth. How could I guess? 

William. You couldn't, of course. Well, I 
stood here for a second, looking around the old 
place for the last time — there was a lump in my 
throat about the size of a baseball — I can feel it yet. 
I kind of hated to leave the old place without some- 
thing of me still here. Same kind of feeling a kid 
has when he wants to carve his initials on things. 
No matter how much a boy has hated his school he 
always wants to leave his initials on the desk. Well. 
I didn't have time to do any carving just then. So 
I took a little kodak snapshot of myself in my pocket, 
I tiptoed over to the fireplace and hid it in a crevice 
behind the mantelpiece. I wonder if it's there still ! 

Lady Elizabeth. (Rises and crosses to c.) Oh, 
do look and see. 

(William goes over to fireplace. Ad. lib. until he 
finds photograph and blows off dust.) 

William. Well, what do you know about that? 
Here it is — little faint — but I guess you can make it 
out. (Shows it to her.) 

Lady Elizabeth. Hm! What a funny face! 



24 THE CHAMPION 

William. Yes, and I suppose it's just as funny 
now. 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, I beg your pardon — I only 
meant 

William. No apologies needed — I never did get 
myself mixed up much with Apollo. But I wasn't 
thinking how I looked just then. Right through 
that window I went — moon high in the sky — not a 
sound in the world — heart full of hopes — head full 
of romance — hands full of boots 

Lady Elizabeth. Boots on your hands? 

William. Didn't want to wake anybody. 

Lady Elizabeth. Why did you run away? 

William. I thought you knew my father. (Lady 
Elizabeth smiles and sits in chair c.) That's the 
answer — incompatibility of temper. Father never 
talked with me. He orated at me like the late Mr. 
Gladstone or William Jennings Bryan. It was fierce. 
Platitudes, copybook maxims, avalanches of them. 
Wanted me to be a clergyman — I was to start by 
taking a class in Sunday school and doing district 
visiting among his mill-workers. I hated it like 

hell Oh, I beg your pardon — I mean I didn't 

quite like it. But he kept nagging at me. And 
when my dear mother began to pray for me — I was 
afraid I was doomed to spend the rest of my life 
in a black coat and a shovel hat and — ^well, I just 
couldn't stand it. So I beat it. 

Lady Elizabeth. Beat it? 

William. Skedaddled — vamoosed — ^you know. 

Lady Elizabeth. Eh? What? 

William. Departed — went — lit out — ^without 
farewell or explanation to papa. And I'll make you 
a little bet that when I see papa the first thing he 
will do will be to demand an explanation. He was 
always demanding explanations, usually from the 
hearth rug. He used to stand on that hearth rug — 



THE CHAMPION «S 

(Indicating rug R.) — and demand explanations by 
the hour. 

Lady Elizabeth. And after you "beat it"? 

William. Well, I walked to Liverpool — sailed 
before the mast for Australia, thence to San Fran- 
cisco — finally settled in the United States, usually 
referred to by the inhabitants as God's own country. 

Lady Elizabeth. Is it quite that? 

William. Well — it's a pretty good place. 

Lady Elizabeth. You must have had rather a 
lonely life. 

William. Not a bit of it. One hundred million 
others over there. 

Lady Elizabeth. How did you live? Did you 
teach English to the Americans ? 

William. No. They think they speak it already 
— and some of them do, in spite of immigration. 

Lady Elizabeth. And you have succeeded in 
America, I hope? 

William. Well, I have, I fear, inherited my 
father's talent for oratory, and anybody with the 
gift of gab can get along in America. They're a 
good-natured race. 

Lady Elizabeth. They seem to be. (Rise and 
cross to L. and slowly around piano.) 

William, (c.) Shouldn't wonder if you'll think 
it awfully crude and American of me — ^but the fact 
is I've taken an instantaneous liking to you. 

Lady Elizabeth. Thanks, so much. 

William. It's probably happened to you before. 

Lady Elizabeth. Perhaps. 

William. I'll say so. (Puts chair back l. of 
table R.) The point is, I've got a kind of a hunch 
I'm goin.8^ to need a friend or two before long. 

Lady Elizabeth. Really? 

William. I'd like to be on your waiting list of 
friends. 

Lady Elizabeth. Waiting list? 



26 THE CHAMPIOxN 

William. Sort of on probation— to be admitted 
to full and regular standing if and when I make 
good. 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, I see. And am I to be 
put on your waiting list, too? 

William. Not you. You're elected at first sight. 
But I don't expect you to admit me all at once to 
your friendship. You don't know anything about 
me — and then you're English. 

Lady Elizabeth. You're as English as I am. 

William. Yes, but I got over it. 

Lady Elizabeth. That doesn't sound very com- 
plimentary. (Crosses to front of sofa.) 

William. You know what I mean, don't you? 

Lady Elizabeth. Yes, but after all, I can't very 
well be less generous than you. 

William. Eh? 

Lady Elizabeth. (In front of sofa) If you 
insist on making a friend of me at first sight, I don't 
see how I can do less, do you ? 

William. Do you mean it? 

Lady Elizabeth. Of course. 

William. (Takes ker hand) Shake, Lady Eliza- 
beth. This is simply corking. (Sits on sofa beside 
her.) I — I don't believe you ever did such a thing 
before in your life. It's immense. Ten minutes ago 
you never heard of me, and look at us now. (Enter 
Antoinette r.) It's great! 

Lady Elizabeth. (Smiling) Isn't it? 

Antoinette. Oh, pardon! I fear I am intrud- 
ing. (William rises.) But it really is very late, 
milady, and you are not yet dressed for dinner. 

Lady Elizabeth. Heavens ! I'd forgotten how 
late it was. (Rises.) Mademoiselle, this is Mr. 
William Burroughs — Miss Mary's brother. (Goes 
around piano l.) 

(William and Antoinette shake hands. She 



THE CHAMPION 27 

shows by slightly wringing her hand that his 
grip has been strong.) 

Lady Elizabeth. (To William j Mademoiselle 
is teaching your sister French. (To Antoinette^ 
Mr. Burroughs has just come home after a long 
absence. 

Antoinette. Ah, Monsieur! 

Lady Elizabeth. And he's been so interesting 
that the time just flew. 

William. It sure did. 

Lady Elizabeth. 77/ say so. (She smiles at him 
and exits L.) 

William, (l.c, turns and finds Antoinette at 
his side.) So you — teach things to my little sister? 

Antoinette. Ah, oui — French — Italian and the 
piano. 

William. You're from Paris, of course. 

Antoinette. Bien stir! 

William. Nice place, Paris — not so good as New 
York, of course. Still, it's a great town, I'll say. 
How do you stand this place after Paris? 

Antoinette. One has no choice when one has to 
teach things for a living. 

William. That's right, too. 

Antoinette. And then I like your little sister 
very, very much. 

William. I'm awfully glad to hear that. I ex- 
pect to like her a whole lot myself. 

Antoinette. I should think so. Mademoiselle 
Marie, she is tres gentille. (The following speech is 
spoken in French) She is so like the Springtime — 
so full of grace and charm and so kind and gener- 
ous and thoughtful of everybody, etc., etc. 

William. FlI say so. 

Antoinette. Monsieur, he speak French? 

William. No— sorry. 

Antoinette. Oh, well, your little sister and me, 



^ THE CHAMPION 

we are great friends and I do my most best to teach 
her everything what I know. 

William. I'm sure you do. I'll bet on it. You 
know there are a lot of things a generous person 
like you can give that no amount of money can pay 
for, and I am just as sure as I can be that you've 
given a lot of them to my little sister. (Pats her on 
cheek.) And Fm awfully — awfully grateful to you. 

(Enter Mr. Burroughs, followed by George and 
David r. They are dressed for dinner. Mr. 
Burroughs comes down r. George c. and 
David works over to L.j 

William. (Holding out hand to Mr. Bur- 
ROUGHSJ My dear father 

Burroughs. (Putting hands behind his back) 
Mademoiselle, I will trouble you to leave the room. 

Antoinette. Oui, Monsieur. (Exits L.J 

William. Well, Father, how are you? 

(^Mr. Burroughs does not speak or move.) 

William. (Turns to George j Well, George, 
perhaps you won't mind? 

George. (Hesitates, looks at Mr. Burroughs, 
then shakes hands with William. J Ah — how do 
you do ? (They shake hands — George squirms and 
wrings his hand.) 

Burroughs. One moment. 

William. There's nothing poisonous on my 

hand, really. David (The three just look at 

him.) Well, here I am, you see. Back in England, 
after all these years — beautiful England — ^home 
again — the end of a perfect day. Little sultry, isn't 
it? 

Burroughs. I demand an explanation. 

William. I knew it! 



THE CHAMPION 29 

Burroughs. I have sent word to your mother 
that, before I shall allow her to see you, I shall, as 
a matter of principle, be compelled to demand a 
complete 

William. Explanation. I know — all right. Let's 
all sit down and have a nice, friendly little chat. 
(Sits on chair l. of table, George sits on r. of 
couch. David sits on l. of couch.) 

Burroughs. (Standing) I am not referring to 
a friendly little chat, sir. For years you leave me 
in total ignorance of your whereabouts — of your 
very existence — and then you return in this prepos- 
terous fashion — stealing in through a window 

William. No — no. Draw the line there. Never 
stole anything in my life. (Rises.) Except away. 
I will admit that, v/hen I went I stole away. (Bus. 
with George and DavidJ 

Burroughs. (Who has unconsciously taken up 
his usual oratorical post on the hearth rug) At all 
events, sir, you 

William. That's right, Father — on the rug. 

f Burroughs steps off rug.) 

William. I went away because I thought it best 
for both of us. 

Burroughs. Much thought youVe ever had for 
me or your mother either. 

William. Honestly, Father, don't you really 
think you have been happier without me than you 
would have been with me. See how well every- 
thing has worked out. David becomes the parson. 
I don't know how good a parson he is, but no mat- 
ter how bad, he's better than the one I should have 
made. 

David. I expect some day to be a Bishop. 

William. Gee — that's great! And I see that— 



30 THE CHAMPION 

(Looking at poster on wall) — good old George is in 
politics. 

George. Yes, sir, and some day I may be Prime 
Minister — ^no one knows. 

William. That's right. No one knows. And 
I see you are a conservative, too ? 

George. Naturally, sir — naturally! 

William. Oh, very naturally. Well, Father, 
that pleases you — while I — well — there's nothing 
conservative about me. Don't you see how it's all 
worked out for the best ? I should have always been 
a thorn in your flesh, whereas I daresay good old 
George and David represent your views completely. 
Yes — now that I look at them, I'm quite sure they 
do. 

^ Burroughs. Fm very proud of your brothers, 
sir. They are a great satisfaction to me. 

William. My dear father-— they look it. (Read- 
ing poster) "Vote for George Burroughs, Esquire 
— the Conservative Candidate for Knotley "—Afraid 
you're on the wrong side, George. 

George. Wrong side, sir? 

William. The plain people are bound to land on 
top. It's the handwriting on the wall. The tide of 
democracy is rising and the man who tries to dam 
it will be damned. 

Burroughs. This is ridiculous, treasonable non- 
sense you are talking, sir ! (Furious.) 

David. Sounds to me like Socialism. 

George. I think the fellow's mad. 

William. Oh, no — it's the stand-patters who've 
gone bughouse. (Sits.) 

David. Bughouse ? 

George. Stand-patters ? 

William. Yes, stand-patters— an American ex- 
pression for a politician who, right or wrong, says, 
"Here I stand until the cows come home to roost." 



THE CHAMPION 31 

Burroughs. Do you or do you not intend to give 
an account of yourself, sir? 

William. Account? 

Burroughs. I said account! You disappear 
from my roof-tree — then follow fifteen years of 
silence — then out of the silence you return appar- 
ently expecting to be welcomed with rejoicing. 

William. Certainly! Prodigal son! Fatted 
calf, sir. David will tell you that. 

Burroughs. For all I know, your life may have 
been disgraceful. I don't know. What have you 
been doing? I don't know. What is your status in 
life? I don't know. Are you a banker or a burg- 
lar? I don't know. 

William. Well, sir — there is something in what 
you say. (Rises.) Briefly, at times, I have had 
some success, but recently — very recently — I have 
had disappointments — something for which I hoped 
— people on whom I rather depended, have — well— 
I have been disappointed. 

Burroughs. Ah — as I expected. Now that your 
plans have gone awry — now that your life is a fail- 
ure, you crawl back here! Oh, sir — have you no 
sense of shame? 

George. (Rises and crosses to William j Do 
you intend telling us where you have been all these 
years ? 

William. Well, I haven't been in jail. 

Burroughs. Why did you never communicate 
with me, sir? 

William. Well, at first I'd nothing to say ex- 
cept that I was broke — and I didn't think that would 
interest you much. You see I was a sailor. (David 
rises.) 

George. Ah — an officer on a ship. 

William. No — George, dear — just a sailor — ^you 
know — a chap that pulls ropes — gets the scurvy — 
and says, "Aye, aye, sir." when the mate kicks him. 



32 THE CHAMPION 

David. A common sailor ? 

William. Rather uncommon, I'm afraid. 

Burroughs. Have you ever had any sort of de- 
cent, gentlemanly occupation? 

William. Nothing indecent about work, is 
there? In fact, I think it would do George a lot 
of good if he had to work a while with a pick-axe 
and shovel as I have done. 

George. A working man? 

William. Yes, George, I'm a worker. 

David. A manual laborer? Good Heavens! 

George. Deuced awkward, I call it. 

William. Mistake to despise the working man 
nowadays, George — he has most of the votes. 

Burroughs. Enough of this ! He may have been 
a laborer in his time — he is not now, of course. 
What he is, God knows. Apparently I am never to 
know. (He sits in chair R. George and David re- 
sume their seats on couch.) But his object in com- 
ing home is clear enough. 

William. Certainly, prodigal son, fatted calf! 
Surely you remember, David. Suppose you tell him. 
It's quite in your line. 

David. I don't understand you. 

William. Really I Must I quote Scripture to a 
future Bishop? Very well, then — here goes: "But 
the father said to his servants, 'Bring forth the best 
robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand 
and shoes on his feet, and bring hither the fatted 
calf and kill it, and let us eat and be merry, for 
this, my son, was dead and is alive again; he was 
lost and is found,' and they began to be merry." 
(Looks at the gloomy three.) And they began to be 
merry. (Pause.) What did you say, Father? 

Burroughs. Sir, we want none of your blas- 
phemies here. I say your object in coming home 
is all too clear. 

William. Certainly, Father. The fatted calf ! 



THE CHAMPION 33 

Burroughs. Exactly. In other words, black- 
mail. (George and David rise.) 

George. (Crosses to r.c.J Blackmail, I say, 
Pater. 

David. Blackmail ? 

William. Did you say blackmail? 

Burroughs. Out with it — how much do you 
want? 

William. What? 

Burroughs. Why beat about the bush? How 
much will you take to go away and never come 
back? Come — come — let's have it. 

George. I say, Pater 

David. Father, really- 



Burroughs. Be silent ! The thing's clear enough. 
He knows that your brother George is running for 
Parliament as a conservative. He knows how dis- 
astrous it would be if it gets about the constituency 
that I have a socialistic son — oh, he's shrewd enough. 
He has bided his time. Very well, I'll pay — I can 
do that — thank God, and so I say again, How much 
do you want ? 

William. Father ! 

(Enter Mrs. Burroughs l.J 

Mrs. Burroughs. Willie ! 

William. (Seeing her) Mother! (He goes to 
her and takes her in his aryns.) Mother ! 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, my dear, you have come 
home at last! 

William. Yes, yes, Mother, here I am. 

Mrs. Burroughs. I — I always knew you would. 
Oh — I'm so glad — so glad ! (She weeps.) 

William. There — there — Mother dearest — don't 
cry. (They sit on couch l.) 

Burroughs. Jane, you have disregarded my 
wishes. 



34 THE CHAMPION 

Mrs. Burroughs. I know, dear — I know, but — 
I — well, I just couldn't wait any longer. 

William. Fifteen years was long enough to wait 
—wasn't it, Mother? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, too long — ^too long — let 
me have a good look at you. My Willie ! Oh, it's 
good to see you! 

William. It's great, isn't it? 

Mrs. Burroughs. And you're all right — aren't 
you? 

William. Yes, yes. 

Mrs. Burroghs. I knew you wotild be — ^but your 
father always said he was sure you would come 
to a bad end. 

Burroughs. Never mind what I said ! 

Mrs. Burroghs. (Rises and crosses to R.c.j But 
John, dear, you know you did say it. (Bus. with 
Burroughs. To William.) What church have you 
been attending, Willie? 

William. No particular church, Mother. 

Mrs. Burroughs. But all churches are particu- 
lar, aren't they? (Burroughs raps on table — bus. 
Mrs. Burroughs to William) I'm afraid dinner 
is awfully late, and when that happens your father 
always gets so irritated. (Burroughs raps louder 
on table.) Why, you're not dressed for dinner, 
Willie! 

William. My glad rags aren't here, Mother. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Glad rags? 

William. My evening clothes, Mother. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Are they in rags? I'm so 
sorry! 

William. No — no. They're in my grip. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Grip? 

William. My baggage — I mean my luggage — I 
left it at the Blue Cow. 

Burroughs. Blue Cow? 



THE CHAMPION 35 

Mrs. Burroughs. Your father doesn't like the 
Blue Cow. 

Burroughs. A very undesirable place, sir. 

Mrs. Burroughs. You see, Mr. Mooney, who 
keeps the Blue Cow, is a great trial to your father. 
He's a Socialist — and, of course, anti-prohibition — 
and your father is an ardent prohibitionist. 

William. Of course. 

Burroughs. (Looking at watch) Jane — aren't 
those girls dressed for dinner yet — eh — eh — eh? 

Mrs. Burroughs. John, dear, you won't mind — 
just for once — if Willie hasn't his evening clothes 
for dinner. 

George. Beastly awkward. Lady Elizabeth will 
think it deucedly curious. (To WilliamJ Lady 
Elizabeth Galton, you know. She is related to the 
Archbishop of York. 

William. You don't say so. 

David. She is the daughter of the Marquis of 
Dunsborough. 

William. Well — well — well. 

Mrs. Burroughs. And our guest at present. 

William. Yes, Mother. 

Mrs. Burroughs. If your clothes were only a 
little darker, dear. 

George. I do think William might respect the 
customs of polite society. (Goes up.) 

Mr. Burroughs. I shall demand that he respect 
them while he remains beneath my roof-tree. 

William. Roof -tree! 

(Enter Mary l. She stands an instant looking at 
William and then runs and throws herself into 
his arms.) 

Mary. Willie ! 

Burroughs. Mary ! 

Mary. (Fearing she has made a mistake, swiftly 



36 THE CHAMPION 

releases herself from William's arms.) Isn't it 
Willie? 

William. Oh, yes, it's Willie, all right. My 
little sister — what a darling you are ! 

Mary. My big brother Willie! They said you 
were lost — and you've come back. I'm awfully — 
awfully glad ! 

William. So am I. You've given me an awfully 
jolly welcome — ^you and mother. 

Mary. Oh, I'm so glad! Father, isn't it splen- 
did? 

Burroughs. Quite so. Quite so. Jane! Are 
we ever going to dine? 

Mrs. Burroughs. David — will you take Willie 
to your room? .(To William^ After your long 
journey from America, I am sure you will be glad 
to wash your hands. 

William. I washed them in London — still 

Mary. I'll take, him. Mother. Come along, Willie 
— I want you to tell me all about America. 

William. I'll tell you all about America while 
we*re washing my hands. (They cross to L.j 

Mary. Willie — is America so very much bigger 
than England? 

William. You could put the whole of England 
into the Bronx. (They exit L.) 

Burroughs. Ha ! Delightful dinner we're going 
to have, I must say ! ^ 

Mrs. Burroughs. Now, John, really, I do hope 
you'll make an effort to be agreeable. 

Mr. Burroughs. Make an effort — make an ef- 
fort — I trust I shall never have to make an effort 
to be agreeable. But to have my entire household 

upset in this manner (Enter Simmons r.^ 

Well, Simmons? 

Simmons. Mr. Mooney, sir. 

Burroughs. What ? 

Simmons. Yes, sir. 



THE CHAMPION 37 

Burroughs. What Mooney? 
Simmons. Of the Blue Cow, sir. 
Burroughs. That person ! What impudence ! 
Inform him that I am not at home. 

(Enter Mooney r. Rushes past Simmons. Sim- 
mons exits. George crosses to r.) 

Mooney. Sorry to be intruding, Mr. Burroughs, 
but faith, there's no time to lose. 

Burroughs. Eh ? 

Mooney, Mr. Burroughs — do you know you 
have a thief in your house? 

Burroughs and George. (Together) What? 
A thief in the house — what nonsense ! 

David. Impossible ! 

Mooney. He was seen entering your garden. 
He didn't come out and he ain't there now — so he 
must be in the house. 

Burroughs. What on earth are you talking 
about ? 

Mooney. Well, sir — this is the way of it. I come 
home just now, and I'm told a lot of my silver has 
been stolen off the place. There was a stranger 
come to the inn this evening — hangs about a bit — 
and then disappears — leaving a portmanteau that's 
got only some clothes in it. My cashier says this 
man acts kind of like as if he was lost, or some- 
thing, but she didn't pay much attention and pres- 
ently he's gone — and then they miss the silver. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Good gracious ! 

Burroughs. What did he look like? 

Mooney. My young lady bookkeeper says he's 
after wearing a dark coat, with flannel trousers and 
white shoes and a Panama straw hat — and she thinks 
he looked like he might be an American. 

George. An American? 

David. Dear, dear! 



38 THE CHAMPION 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh! 

MooNEY. (Looks at each of them as they speak) 
Well, sir — what will yer be doin' about it ? 

Mr. Burroughs. Do — do — do? 

MooNEY. Faith — you've got to do something. 
(Whispers) He's in the house, I tell you. 

Burroughs. (Shouts) Don't whisper at me, sir ! 
I see no occasion to do anything. 

MooNEY. Won't yer be after ringing up the po- 
lice? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, no — no — no! 

MooNEY. Hush — hush — for the love of Heaven ! 
Of course, ma'am, the police is bad, and all that, 
but burglars is worse, I'm thinking. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, John John! 

MooNEY. Now don't be uneasy, ma'am — I've got 
a revolver. (Mrs. Burroughs shrieks.) 

Burroughs. Hush — hush — Jane ! Hush ! I will 
search the house, Mr. Mooney, and if this person 
is here I will question him. 

MooNEY. Here — take the revolver, sir. 

Burroughs. Thank you, no. 

MooNEY. Sure — ^you'd better, sir. I've been in 
New York myself, and faith, these Americans will 
shoot as soon as look at you. I'll go with you, Mr. 
Burroughs. 

Burroughs. I shall go alone, sir. I don't wish 
any shooting done. 

MooNEY. And what'll yer do when you find him ? 

Burroughs. I will insist on an explanation. 

Mooney. Explanation is it? Ha — faith, all the 
explanation he'll give you will be a rap on the coco. 

Burroughs. I say, I shall demand an explana- 
tion. 

(Enter William and Mary l.J 

William. More explanations ? 



THE CHAMPION 39 

MooNEY. (Seeing him) That's him — that's him 
— look at his clothes! 

William. Look at your own clothes. Are my 
clothes any funnier than yours? You see, my lug- 
gage has gone astray. Has yours? 

MooNEY. Me knives and forks have gone astray. 

William. No clothes — no knives and forks — 
poor fellow, you've nothing for dinner at all. How 
did it happen? 

MooNEY. They were stolen. 

William. Dear — dear! Too bad! Who stole 
them? 

MooNEY. Faith, you did! 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, Willie! 

Mary. Ridiculous, Father ! Why don't you send 
this man away? 

William. Mother, it's all right, I'm sure. There's 
some mistake. 

MooNEY. No mistake at all, whatever. He stole 
them. He's a thief ! 

(William turns suddenly and assumes a fighting 
attitude.) 

MooNEY. Wait — hold on! Faith — now — maybe 
it is mistaken I am. 

William. Think so? 

MooNEY. (Imitates William's attitude) Sure, 
when I was in New York, the greatest night of me 
life — I got yer now — sure I seen yer — then I seen 
yer pictures in the papers. Sure, there's a mistake 
somewhere. 

William. I think so. 

MooNEY. You're never the man to stale a lot of 
knives and forks. 

William. Why did you say I did? 

MooNEY. Now, for the love of Heaven — sure, I 
didn't mean it. It was all a mistake. 



40 THE CHAMPION 

William. (To Mrs. Burroughs j Who is this 
interesting maniac? 

Mrs. Burroughs. It's Mr. Mooney from the 
Blue Cow. 

William. Oh — father's friend. (Burroughs 
snorts with rage.) 

Mooney. Faith, you at the Blue Cow and me 
not there! Sir, I'd enjoy the great honor for to 
shake you by the hand. 

William. Certainly, if you wish. (They shake 
hands. Mooney winces.) And now, perhaps, you'd 
better go. 

Burroughs. I demand an explanation. (To 
William j Not from you, sir. (To Mooney j 
From you. You say you know my son ? 

Mooney. What — you're his father? (Rushes to 
Burroughs and shakes his hand furiously) Sir, I 
congratulate you from the bottom of me heart. 
Sure 'tis the proud man you ought to be. (Crosses 
to Mrs. Burroughs and takes her hand.) And you, 
Ma'am, for the fortunate mother that ye are this 
day. 

Mrs. Burroughs. I — I don't understand you. 

William. (Anxious to get rid of him before he 
gives the game away) Yes — yes — yes. And now, 
Mr. Mooney, we're just going in to dinner — so per- 
haps if you'll excuse us 

Burroughs. No, sir — no. Mooney, come here. 
(He does so.) What in the name of Heaven are 
you talking about? 

Mooney. Mr. Burroughs, do you mean to stand 
there and tell me that you don't know who your 
own son is ? 

William. Father, if you'll allow me 

Burroughs. No, sir — no! (To Mooney j Well 
— sir — who is he ? 

Mooney. Sure, he's Gunboat Williams— that's 
who he is. 



-I 

I 
m 

n 

I 
> 
2 
v 
o 
z 




This is t^e same set, but all the furniture has been removed 
and in its places are tables and chairs. On the tables ai'e 
decanters, glasses with liquor in them, cocktail glasses, etc. On 
the left, the Mayor's table, there is a tap bell. On same table 
empty tumbler and soda syphon for business. IMPORTANT: 
The portrait at C. is changed for one of David in fighting togs. 
Boxing gloves, fencing foils, etc., adorn the walls. 



THE CHAMPION 41 

Burroughs. Gunboat Williams? 

MooNEY. Yes, sir — Gunboat Williams — the light- 
weight champion of the world. 

Burroughs. A prize-fighter? 

MooNEY. Yes, sir — and the best man of his weight 
that ever set foot in a ring. 

Burroughs. My son — a common prize-fighter ! 

William. No, Father. 

Burroughs. You deny it? 

William. Not common, Father. I was the 
champion. 

Burroughs. How shall I keep this from Lady 
Elizabeth ? 

William. By not boasting about it. 

(Enter Lady Elizabeth l.) 

Lady Elizabeth. I am so sorry. 
Burroughs. Mooney! (Motions to him to go 
out and say nothing.) 

(Mooney picks up cap and exits c.) 

Lady Elizabeth. Is anything the matter? 
Burroughs. No, no! 
Lady Elizabeth. Am I late? 
Burroughs. It's all right — it's quite all right. 
Come, come — let's get in to dinner — dinner — dinner. 

(Mrs. Burroughs, Mary, David and George 
exit R.J 

Lady Elizabeth. (To William J Aren't you 
coming ? 

William. Sorry, I'm not dressed. 

Lady Elizabeth. Why, I think your clothes are 
deliciously unconventional. Won't you take me in? 



$ 

42 THE CHAMPION 

William. Til say so. (Offers Lady Elizabeth 
his arm. They move toward door R.j Coming, 
Father? (Burroughs drops into chair R.J 

CURTAIN 



ACT II 

Scene: The same. 

Time: The following morning. 

When curtain rises there are discovered all mem- 
bers of the family, except William, namely, 
Mr. and Mrs. Burroughs, Mary, George and 
David. A family conference is going on. They 
are all silent — Mr. Burroughs pacing up and 
down center. Mrs. Burroughs on couch r., 
Mary on couch l., George in chair l. of table, 
David in chair r. of table. 

They all look nervously at each other as Mr. 
Burroughs paces up and down, 

George. (Rises) May I be permitted to say a 
word, Pater? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Say it ! Say it ! 

George. Would it be just as well, to, er — er 

Burroughs. Yes — yes ? 

George. No, Tm afraid that wouldn't do at all. 

Burroughs. What wouldn't do? 

George. Nothing, sir — nothing. (Goes up to c. 
Mary giggles.) 

Burroughs. Mary ! 

Mary. Yes, Father. 

Burroughs. Come here ! 

Mary. Yes, Father. 

Burroughs. This levity is unseemly and out of 
place. 

Mary. I was only laughing. 
43 



44 THE CHAMPION 

Burroughs. Laughing at what? 

Mary. At George. 

Burroughs. Do you think your brother George 
is funny? 

Mary. Well, that's a matter of opinion. 

Burroughs. You're too young to have an opin- 
ion! 

Mary. And am I too young to laugh, father? 

George. Mary ! (She goes up stage.) 

David. (Rising) It occurs to me, father 

Burroughs. Yes ! 

David. I say it occurs to me 

Burroughs. Say it ! Say it ! 

David. It occurs to me — that we need a little 
more time to think it over. 

Burroughs. Very well — sit down and think it 
over. 

('David sits in chair l. of table, rises and goes to 
chair r. of table, nervously.) 

Mrs. Burroughs. I do wish you'd excuse me, 
John. I'm never good for anything so early in the 
morning. 

Burroughs. No, Jane, no — we must come to 
some decision at once. (Crosses to L.J 

Mrs. Burroughs. But Willie may come down to 
his breakfast at any moment. (Pulls bell cord.) 

Burroughs. (Going around piano) I will not 
sit at the same table with him. And I will not be 
driven from my own table either. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, John ! 

Burroughs, (vl. of piano) My son! Gunboat 
Williams ! A nice tale for Knotley to roll under its 
tongue, if this thing becomes public. 

(Enter Simmons.J 



THE CHAMPION 45 

Mrs. Burroughs. Simmons, will you please 
take Mr. William's breakfast up to his room. Toast 
and coffee, bacon and eggs and plenty of marmalade. 

Burroughs. Marmalade ! 

Simmons. Mr. William rang for his breakfast 
half an hour ago, Ma'am. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh — very well. ("Simmons 
goes out.) 

Burroughs. Rang for his breakfast! Humph! 
He makes himself at home. 

Mary. (Behind piano) Why not? It is his 
home, isn't it? 

Burroughs. (Angrily) Mary, leave the room. 

Mary. Why, certainly. Being here isn't my idea 
of a good time. (Exits l. George crosses to l., 
around piano.) 

Burroughs. Mark my words, Jane, that girl 
needs discipline. I think she should be sent to visit 
her Aunt Lydia at once. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Very well, dear. 

Burroughs. And you, David, you'd better make 
an excuse to run up to London. 

David. Very well. Father. 

Burroughs. As for you, George 

George, (l.) I say, Pater, if I were to hop 
it, wouldn't Lady Elizabeth think it deucedly curi- 
ous — ^what ? 

Burroughs. That is true. I'd forgotten Lady 
Elizabeth. Yes — ^yes — ^you must remain. 

George. Very good. Pater. 

Burroughs. If we can only keep this thing quiet ! 
I went to see Mooney last night. I think I have 
stopped his tongue but of course we are in the fel- 
low's hands. As for you, Jane — possibly you may 
have some influence with this son of yours. If so, 
pray induce him to be decent enough to hold his 
tongue about his infamous past. 

George. Thank heaven. Lady Elizabeth did not 



46 THE CHAMPION 

come in last night till after Mooney had given the 
bally show away. 

Burroughs. I wouldn't have Lady Elizabeth 
know for the world. 

George. It wouldn't be so bad if the blighter had 
any manners. 

Mrs. Burroughs. What's wrong with his man- 
ners? 

George. Oh, I daresay they're right enough — 
for American manners. 

Mrs. Burroughs. If he's an American why 
shouldn't he have American manners? 

Burroughs. An American! 

George. An American! By Jove! You don't 
mean to say the blighter's become an American citi- 
zen. 

Burroughs. Jane ! 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh please — I didn't say he 
had — I don't know anything about it. 

Burroughs. Jane, you distinctly intimated — Ha ! 
That would be the last straw! ^Mr. Burroughs 
stretches his hand out in consternation.) 

(Enter William r. He comes down and takes Mr. 
Burroughs' outstretched hand.) 

William. Good morning. Father — Mother — 
David — George 

Burroughs. Sir, will you establish a precedent 
and answer me one question categorically ? 

William. Why not? Why not? 

Burroughs. Have you — or have you not — be- 
come an American citizen? 

William. Certainly I have. 

Burroughs. (Horrified) What! 

William. Certainly. Why not? 

Burroughs. You — you — traitor ! You have sold 
your birthright for a mess of pottage. 



THE CHAMPION 47 

William. (Comes to him) American citizen- 
ship a mess of pottage ! Oh, Father ! ! That's a Ut- 
ile strong, isn't it ? 

Burroughs. I might have known it. Oh, this — 
this is too much ! You — you renegade ! 

William. I don't see the disgrace. I have Hved 
in America fifteen years. Whatever I am, I owe to 
her. 

Burroughs, And a nice job America has made 
of it. I shall never hold up my head again. Never, 
never. (Goes out.) 

George. (To WilliamJ An American, eh? 
(Bus.) You Yankee bounder. (He begins a dig- 
nified exit, hut breaks into a run when William 
playfully stamps his feet behind him.) 

William. Total loss ! 

David. It — it*s really frightfully embarrassing, 
you know. 

William. Oh, come now. Bishop, listen to me. 
Just for a few minutes, I want you to button your 
collar in front. 

David. Eh ? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Why, Willie, he can't do that. 
He's a clergyman. 

William. Yes. I want to talk to him now not 
as a clergyman — but as man to man — yes, brother to 
brother — for after all, he is my brother. (Crosses 

to L.C.J 

David. I don't deny it. 

William. Very good of you — now really, David, 
what do you honestly think of the way the gov- 
ernor's acted about me? 

David. (Rises and crosses to William J Why — 
er — as a matter of fact. I think he's been a little 
hard on you. 

William. Thank you, Bishop, for those kind 
words. 

David. Still, if you had only told him at first— — 



48 THE CHAMPION 

William. Would you, if he'd flown down your 
throat like that ? 

David. Daresay I shouldn't. 

William. Well, there you are. (Sits.) 

David. Pater's a bit of a handful and no mistake. 
Daresay, you did the right thing, getting out as you 
did. Wish Pd had the pluck. 

William. My dear David, you overwhelm me. 

David. Oh, I hop around and do as Pm told — 
always shall, I daresay, but you needn't think it 
doesn't make me sick. You needn't think there 
aren't times when I hate myself for it. You're a 
lucky dog — but you deserve it — because you had the 
pluck to get out. Ah, there are times when I yearn 
to tell him to — to go to the devil. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh! 

William. Dear! Dear! How unchurchly! 

David. Lots of things I want to do — simply don't 
dare — haven't the pluck, dash it ! 

William. What, for example! 

David. Well, Pd like to tell him how I feel about 
you — for one thing. 

William. That's mighty nice of you. Why don't 
you? 

David. Well, really, you know after you've been 
a sheep all your life you can't all at once stop bleat- 
ing and go to roaring. The whole business is deuced 
awkward. (Going.) I think Pll go somewhere and 
think it over. I may hit on something. (Exit c. 
to L.) 

Mrs. Burroughs. Willie, what are you going to 
do? (Rises and goes to couch.) 

William. Do? 

Mrs. Burroughs. (Sits) Yes, dear, your father 
— ^he's in a terrible state. Last night after dinner, 
when you were in the garden with Lady Elizabeth, 
there was an awful scene. He says he won't sit at 
the same table with you. 



THE CHAMPION 49 

William. I guess I can stand it. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, Willie, darling, if you'd 
only stayed at home. 

William. Mother, if I had stayed at home, life 
would have been one long riot or else he'd have made 
me like George and David. 

Mrs. Burroughs. My dear, you mustn't be hard 
on your brothers. 

William. I don't mean to be, Mother. But 
they've been absolutely dominated by father. Why, 
they haven't a thought or an ambition or a plan that 
he hasn't put in their heads. Honestly Mother dear, 
would you like me to be like them? 

Mrs. Burroughs. (Hedging) No, dear, I want 
you to be yourself. 

William. That's what I mean. They're not 
themselves. They're himself. 

Mrs. Burroughs. I tremble to think what he'll 
do if he ever finds out about my writing to you and 
hearing from you all those years. 

William. Come, come, Mother darling, don't 
worry about that. I haven't missed anything else 
in England but I've missed my mother — all these 
years — yes — I've missed her terribly! Don't you 
know how I'd love to take you to America and care 
for you all the rest of your life. Why, I'd ju3t 
adore it. 

Mrs. Burroughs. But things can't go on like 
this — what are you going to do? 

William. Well, I don't know yet. But before I 
leave here, there are some things that I must do 
here — or try to — oh, I can see that my time here 
must be short but when I go I want to leave this 
house just a little better and happier because of me, 
if I can. 

Mrs. Burroughs. What do you mean? 

William. Now, don't you worry. Mother. But 
Vm going to have a try at it and if I fail, why you'll 



50 THE CHAMPION 

be none the worse and I can always go back to my 
own free country. God bless it ! 

Mrs. Burroughs. Ah, my boy, I shall miss you. 

William. Yes, Mother, we'll miss each other. 
But let's not talk about that. Tell me, mother, about 
Lady Elizabeth^How on earth does it happen that 
such a peach of a girl is still single ! 

Mrs. Burroughs. I don't know — of course she's 
very poor. 

William. Come, come now, Mother, give me a 
good reason. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Well, I think she's too proud 
just to sell her title for money 

William. Mother, you said a mouth full! 

Mrs. Burroughs. Willie, dear, what peculiar 
language you do use! 

William. She is the finest thing I've seen in 
England. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Why, Willie darling, you don't 
mean 

William. Well, you see, Mother, it wasn't very 
gay at dinner last night. I mean — no one seemed to 
have anything to say — or if they had they were 
afraid to say it. So after dinner you remember 
Lady Elizabeth and I strolled out into the garden — 
the moon was wonderful — I've always been a great 
admirer of the moon — and so has Lady Elizabeth. 
We found a number of things in common. (A 
dreamy, smiling pause.) Nice girl — nice girl 

Mrs. Burroughs. Did you say anything to Lady 
Elizabeth ? 

William. Oh, yes! 

Mrs. Burroughs. I mean did you — did you 

William. Oh, no— Mother! I didn't have the 
nerve. 

(Enter Mooney c. from l.) 



THE CHAMPION 51 

MooNEY. (In great excitement) Morning to ye, 
Ma'am. Morning to ye, Mister Burroughs. 

William. (Rising) Well, Mooney, what is it? 

MoONEY. Sure — I'm afther comin' in here fer 
to do the toughest thing that ever an Irishman had 
to do. 

William. What's that? 

MooNEY. Apologize. 

William. You mean about the silver? 

Mooney. No — we found the silver. 

William. Then what do you mean? 

Mooney. Then ye ain't seen the paper? (Waves 
it.) All about your being the Champion. (^Mrs. 
Burroughs gets up.) 

William. No. 

Mooney. Sure, 'tis all my fault though I'm tellin* 
ye I didn't go fer to do it. 

William. Let me see it. (Takes paper and 
reads it.) 

Mooney. (Much worried) Now for the love av 
Heaven, Mister Burroughs 

William. (With a start) Good Heavens! Well! 
You've done it now, Mooney ! 

Mooney. Sure, I know — I know — Sure I only 
told me wife, and I swore her on the Holy Book 
fer to hould her tongue, an' sure — she must av 
blabbed. 

William, (c.) Oh, yes — she spilled it all right. 

Mooney. (-r.c.) Sure, Mister Burroughs, I'm 
that sorry I could bite me tongue out. 

William. Never mind. Perhaps it's just as 
well. 

Mrs. Burroughs, ("l.c.) What will your father 
say when he hears of this. 

William. "I demand an explanation!" 

(Enter Burroughs and George r. hath reading 



52 THE CHAMPION 

newspapers. Burroughs comes down r. Mrs. 
Burroughs sits on couch.) 

Burroughs. Mooney, we will excuse you. 
You've done your worst. Good morning. 

Mooney. (Crosses to R.j Will you have an ex- 
planation, sir. 

Burroughs. No, sir — I want no explanation. 
Good morning. 

Mooney. (To WilliamJ Fm sorry, sir. 

William. It's all right, Mooney — it would have 
come out some time. You run along — I'll see you at 
the Inn. ("William goes up c.) 

Mooney. Thank you, sir. (Goes out after 
vainly trying to shake Mr. Burroughs' hand. As he 
exits he says in the distance :) It's all the fault of 
my old woman, etc., etc. I'll never tell her anything 
again. 

Burroughs. Ruined! (To William. j Well, 
sir. you've done your worst. Here it is — the whole 
filthy scandal. AH over the public print of your 
native city — and your photograph in ring costume. 
You have ruined us all. (Enter David c. with n-ews- 
paper.) I hope you are satisfied; 

William. Look here now, it isn't as bad as all 
that. 

George. Sweet mess you've got us into, I must 
say. 

Burroughs. A blackguardly bruiser. (To Mrs. 
Burroughs. j Your son — Madam. Your son! 

William. Oh, come, come — Father. Be fair — 
I'm your son too. 

Burroughs. You have ruined us all. We shall 
never be able to hold up our heads in this com- 
piunity again. (Sits R. of table.) 

George. It's — it's quite too humiliating. (Sits 
l. of table.) 

William. Nothing humiliating about being cham- 



THE CHAMPION 53 

pion. A champion is the best man in the world 
in his class. 

David. (Above table r.) I shudder to think 
what the Rector will say. 

George. And what's to become of my candidacy 
for Parliament? Nice chance for a conservative 
candidate — with a bally prize fighter for a brother — 
what? 

Burroughs. Well, sir — you have accomplished 
your ambition. You have disgraced your entire 
family. And now. sir — now 

William, (c.) And now, I suppose, I am no 
longer a son of yours. I am to go and never darken 
your door again. Very well, but before I get out. 
Tm going to make one or two remarks. It's true 
that I have been the light-weight champion of the 
world. It's true that I made over $200,000 in the 
prize ring — with my two fists. I wasn't going to tell 
you at first because I thought you'd be 

Burroughs. Now he's calling his father insane. 

William, I wasn't going to say a word about it, 
but since it's come out, I'm here to say that I'm not 
ashamed of it. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, Willie ! Willie ! 

William. No, Mother, I'm not ashamed of it. 

Burroughs. Where, where in Heaven's name 
did you ever learn this disreputable trade of yours? 

William. At the Y.M.C.A. 

David. Y 

William. Y.M.C.A. Yes, sir. When I landed in 
San Francisco, I nearly starved to death until the 
Y.M.C.A. took me in. One day, while I was there, 
I was watching a couple of lads boxing in the gym. 
They got me to put on the gloves with them. I 
wasn't so rotten and pretty soon one of them got me 
a chance to go on in a preliminary bout at an 
Athletic Club. My opponent was a "coon" by the 
name of "Snowball Jackson." (Burroughs thrmvs 



54 THE CHAMPION 

up his hands in horror, as also do George and 
DavidJ I was to get five dollars, win or lose. I 
won in the third round with a knockout. One thing 
led to another and pretty soon I got a manager. I 
had my ups and downs — I took a good many hard 
knocks, but in five years I was at the top of the 
heap. I made my pile and I retired from the ring — 
the undefeated light-weight champion of the world. 

Burroughs. An eminence of iniquity. 

William. Now, Father, hear me out. After 
that I made up my mind 

Burroughs. That's enough. 

William. All right — ^but I will say this — Vm 
proud of my career in the ring — yes, sir — proud of 
it. I don't talk about it much, but I'm proud of it 
just the same. It takes skill and persistence, and 
courage, to get to the top in that game, and when 
you get there it takes clean and decent living to stay 
there. I took them all as they came — ^they couldn't 
come too tough for me. And when I quit — I quit 
unbeaten. That was eight years ago. I haven't had 
a glove on since. Now I'm never going to say a 
word about it again, but if you think I'm not proud 
of it, you're mistaken — ^because I am. I always 
tried my best to win. That's clean sport and clean 
sport is a good thing for any country. 

Burroughs. (Bus.) My son — Gunboat Williams 
— my God! 

William. Well Father — you might at least 
thank me for not using my own name. 

Burroughs. What's the difference — all the world 
will know it now. 

George. I suppose Lady Elizabeth will leave the 
house at once. 

William. I'll make you a small bet she doesn't. 

Burroughs. (Rising and crossing to William^ 
The manners of the prize ring — making a wager on 
a lady. You — ^you 



THE CHAMPION 55 

(Enter Simmons r. David puts newspaper on con- 
sole table up stage and comes down to table.) 

Simmons. Beg pardon, sir. 

Burroughs. What is it? 

Simmons. Your telephone in the library. 

Burroughs. Well ! 

Simmons. It's the newspaper editor. He wants 
an interview about Gunboat Williams. 

Burroughs. Gunboat Williams? Tell him I'm 
not at home — no, I'll tell him. (Exit r., followed by 

SiMMONS.j 

George. (Rises, puts monocle in his eye, looks 
at William) Warship Williams ! My God! (Exit 
c. to R.) 

William. And what has the Church to say? 

David. Really, it's frightfully embarrassing. 

William. I'm awfully sorry, Dave. 

David. What's the good of that now. I suppose 
I'd better go and break it to the Rector. Heaven 
knows what he's going to think. Gunboat Williams ! 
(Exit c. to L.) 

William. Well, Mother — here's your notorious 
son. Do you love him still? 

Mrs. Burroughs. My dear, as if I should ever 
Stop loving you! Why didn't you ever write me 
about all this ? 

William. Well, I was afraid you'd worry about 
my getting hurt. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, I should — I should! I 
should never have had a peaceful minute. 

William. Mother — do you honestly believe this 
thing is going to queer the whole family, as father 
seems to think? 

Mrs. Burroughs. I'm afraid it's rather dreadful, 
darling — it's such a respectable community. 

William. I wish I'd knocked Mooney's block off. 

PHONE RINGS 



56 THE CHAMPION 

Mrs. Burroughs. Willie ! You answer it. 

William. (Goes to phone) Hello, hello! I 
mean — are you there? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Willie! YouVe got it upside 
down. (Bus. with phone,) 

William. Hello! Hello! Yes, just a moment. 
Oh, it's for you, Mother. 

Mrs. Burroughs. Ask who it is. 

William. Who is it, please. (To Mrs. Bur- 
ROUGHS.j It's Mrs. Archer. 

Mrs. Burroughs. The Rector's wife! She's 
read the paper. Oh, dear, I can't talk to her now. 
I haven't the heart. Say I've gone to bed with a 
sick headache. 

William. Why, Mother! 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh, I know it isn't true now, 
but it will be in a minute. (She exits L.) 

William. (Into phone) I'm very sorry, but 
mother says she's — er — I mean mother has just gone 
to bed to have a sick headache ! What ! Oh, yes — 
this is Mr. William Burroughs speaking. Yes — yes 
—Gunboat Williams. What's that ! Hello ! Hello ! 
Hello! (Hangs up the 'phone. After telephoning, 
William thinks a moment, then pulls hell rope. 
Enter Lady Elizabeth l.j I'm so glad, Lady 
Elizabeth. I was just going to send Simmons to 
ask if you could spare me a few moments. 

Lady Elizabeth. (Taking up workbasket off 
piano) Why, of course. 

(Enter Simmons.^ 

Simmons. You want something, sir? 

William. Er— I did, but I've got it. (Exit 
Simmons.J You've heard the news? 

Lady Elizabeth. News? 

William. About the exposure of the prodigal 
son? 



THE CHAMPION 57 

Lady Elizabeth. What do you mean? 

William, They haven't told you? 

Lady Elizabeth. Told me what? 

William. No, they wouldn't, I suppose, if they 
could help it. Well, everything's in a mess and so — 
well, I've just got to get out — fact is Vm going in 
a few minutes. 

Lady Elizabeth. Going? 

William. Yes. 

Lady Elizabeth. Where? 

William. Home — to America. So you see it's 
my last chance with you. 

Lady Elizabeth. But I don't want to lose my 
friend so soon. Why must you go? 

William. That's what I've got to tell you. (He 
indicates chair and she sits down, by the table L. of 
table. He sits across the table r.) 

Lady Elizabeth. All this sounds very ominous. 

William. Worse than that — it's my swan-song, 
I guess. (They look at each other — then their eyes 
drop — there is a moment of awkwardness. Then, 
as one who speaks to make conversation in an em- 
barrassing moment, she speaks.) 

Lady Elizabeth. Are you going back to your 
ranch ? 

Willi A m . Ranch ? 

Lady Elizabeth. Your brother says you've been 
ranching in the states. 

William. Yes, I've been doing quite a lot of 
ranching in the neighborhood of Broadway and 42nd 
Street. Many fine ranches there. 

Lady Elizabeth. Cattle ranches? 

William. No — chicken ranches. 

Lady Elizabeth. Really? 

William. Hang the ranch I I've never done any 
ranching. That's merely my family's idea of the 
gentlemanly thing an English lad ought to do when 
he leaves home. 



58 THE CHAMPION 

Lady Elizabeth. What have you done then? 

William. Pretty much everything else — all the 
way from cabin boy to tramp. 

Lady Elizabeth. Not really! 

William. I've chopped so much wood for a meal 
that my hands were bleeding — I've stood for hours 
in the bread line for a roll and a cup of coffee and 
when the saints in charge had said a prayer and sung 
a hymn the coffee was as cold as I was. Oh, I've 
had lots of fun. 

Lady Elizabeth. Fun? 

William. Oh, well, it's all adventure and one is 
young, and no one knows you in a strange land, and 
when the bad time is over there's a relish about 
success that you- can't get in any other way. I don't 
know why I go on like this to you, but they say 
when a man is drowning he sort of gets a quick 
close up of his whole past life 

Lady Elizabeth. Are you drowning? 

William. I don't know yet. It depends on you. 

Lady Elizabeth. On me? 

William. Yes. You see there's something I 
wanted to ask you, but first there's something I've 
got to tell you — and it may be a shock to you. 

Lady Elizabeth. Before you tell me anything 
there's something I've got to tell you which may be 
a great shock to you. When I came down here to 
visit your people I took my place in the bread-line. 
Could anything be more sordid than that. Why 
don't you tell me how you despise me? 

William. Because I don't. 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, if I were only a man. 

William. My God! What a horrible wish! 

Lady Elizabeth. It's my wish, anyhow. 

William. Don't say that — ^please, don't say any- 
thing like that. It's blasphemy. Oh, there may be 
women who might just as well be men, but not you — 
not you! 



THE CHAMPION 59 

Lady Elizabeth. Well, here I am — stranded — 
and just because I'm a woman with a title, I can't 
do anything about it — at least I can't do anything 
that I don't loathe. 

William. Surely it can't be as bad as all that. 

Lady Elizabeth. Just as bad. 

William. I say, do you mind if I ask you a ques- 
tion or two? 

Lady Elizabeth. Not at all. 

William. You don't mean to say you haven't 
anything at all? 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, no ! I've got a silver mine 
without any silver in it. 

William. Yes — I've got one of those mines 
myself. Where is it? 

Lady Elizabeth. In Mexico. 

William. In Mexico f Didn't it ever pay any 
dividends ? 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, yes — till after father died, 
but about that time, so my Trustee tells me, they 
found the mine was worked out. Oh, there were a 
few odds and ends but they all went to the bad. 

William. At about the same time? 

Lady Elizabeth. Yes, just about. 

William. Who is this trustee you speak of? 
Perhaps he — but I guess you'll think I'm getting 
awfully fresh. 

Lady Elizabeth. Not at all — ^you're my friend, 
aren't you? 

William. I'll tell the world I am. 

Lady Elizabeth. The trustee is Lord Brocking- 
ton. 

William. Do you think that possibly he 

Lady Elizabeth. Of course not — Lord Brock- 
ington's my cousin. 

William. Oh, I see. Well, you know it's been 
my experience that when you get your relations 
mixed up in business affairs — Oh, boy ! Still, I sup- 



6o THE CHAMPION 

pose it may be different in this country — What kind 
of a fellow is he ? 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, Freddy's all right. Aw- 
fully fond of me, too. 

William. You don't say so! 

Lady Elizabeth. He'd even marry me to-day 
without a penny to my name. 

William. You seem to think he deserves a lot 
of credit for that. 

Lady Elizabeth. Don't you? 

William. Ha! Ha! Look here — what do they 
call this mine that always paid dividends until this 
chap that wants to marry you became your trustee? 

Lady Elizabeth. The Silver Girl. 

William. The Silver Girl! The Silver Girl! 
Seductive name, isn't it? 

Lady Elizabeth. Yes, but I'm afraid she is an 
adventuress. 

William. I think you need a lawyer. 

Lady Elizabeth. I can't afford luxuries. 

William. My brother George is scarcely a lux- 
ury. 

Lady Elizabeth. I'm afraid he would be as a 
lawyer. Why do you think I need one? 

William. Well, I was thinking perhaps there 
may be some way of saving something from the 
ruins that your Trustee hasn't discovered. Do you 
mind if I speak to George about this Silver Girl? 

Lady Elizabeth. Not at all — ^but you mustn't 
trouble about me. It isn't a bit of use. Hm ! Poor 
old dad! I'm glad he didn't live to see the mess 
he got me into. He was a darling — ^terribly irre- 
sponsible — but a darling. It seems so strange to 
think that I shall never see his funny, merry face 
again. You'd think I'd get used to it, but I don't 

seem to. Somehow I just (Begins to break 

down.) 

William. (Rises — crosses to l. of Lady Eliza- 



THE CHAMPION 6i 

BETH J Don't cry — please — please don't cry! I 
never could stand a woman crying. 

Lady Elizabeth. It's silly of me, isn't it? There 
now — I shan't do it again. (She fumbles to try and 
find her handkerchief but can't. He takes his out 
and hands it to her. She wipes her eyes.) Thanks. 

William. (Crosses to l.J Welcome. 

Lady Elizabeth. But here I am telling you my 
troubles and you were going to tell me yours. 

William. Yes — and they're not easy to tell. 
(Sitting on couch L.) Lady Elizabeth, I don't sup- 
pose you've ever been personally acquainted with a 
prize fighter? 

Lady Elizabeth. A prize fighter! What a no- 
tion. 

William. Absurd idea, isn't it? 

Lady Elizabeth. Ridiculous ! 

William. Yes. Quite so. However, you're 
acquainted with one now. 

Lady Elizabeth. What! 

William. Yes, I mean me. 

Lady Elizabeth. Mr. Burroughs! 

William. That's my guilty secret. 

Lady Elizabeth. I don't understand you at all. 

William. (Pointing to table n.) There it is — 
in the Knotley Guardian — all about me. 

Lady Elizabeth. (Picks up paper — looks at it) 
Mr. Burroughs! 

William. Needn't bother to read it all now. 
Save it for a rainy day. The long and short of it is 
that for several years I was one of the best known 
pugilists in the prize ring. 

Lady Elizabeth. Dear me ! 

William. I was known as Gunboat Williams. 

Lady. Elizabeth. Heavens — what a name! 

William. I wasn't going to tell anybody over 
here, but that infernal Irishman gave it away — ^and 
now it's all come out. Well — that's it ! 



62 THE CHAMPION 

Lady Elizabeth. How in the world did you ever 
do such a thing? 

William. You agree with father. You think it's 
a disgrace. Yes — I suppose you would. You 
couldn't ever look on that kind of a fellow as your 
friend. 

Lady Elizabeth. Well, I don't know very much 
about such things — Mr. Burroughs — but I've always 
supposed it was rather a brutal business. 

William. Yes — yes — I suppose you have. 

Lady Elizabeth. Two human beings trying to 
beat each other into unconsciousness — isn't that it? 

William. That's one way of looking at it. 

Lady Elizabeth. And for money — and then — 
the associations — aren't they rather — rather dread- 
ful? 

William. Well, I suppose they're not exactly 
what you'd call lady fingers and five o'clock tea. 
Oh, I don't blame you for being shocked — I was 
afraid of it. 

Lady Elizabeth. (Rises and crosses to him — 
with paper in hand) Well, I hope you won't think 
I'm prudish about it. But, well — really — it is rather 
a pity, isn't it — and you don't seem like that kind 
of person at all. Why — why — I can hardly believe 
it. (Moves a little up l.) Oh, I'm so sorry you 
told me — very, very sorry! 

William. I had to. Lady Elizabeth — I've 
knocked about the world a good bit. I've had a lot 
of happy days and some sad ones. A lot of people 
have come into my life and gone out again, and some 
of them I miss a good deal, but I've never missed 
any of them as I'm going to miss you — because you 
see, I've never met anyone like you in the world — 
never — and never shall again. You're the one 
woman in the world to me — and always will be — 
always! That's why I had to tell you — ^because — 
well — I couldn't have asked you what I was going 



THE CHAMPION 63 

to ask you without telling- you — could I? You — 
know what I was going to ask you ? 

Lady Elizabeth. Hadn't we better speak of 
something else. 

William. (Reels under the blow, hut bucks 
up.) No, thank you — nothing else. (Lady Eliza- 
beth exits L. through window. After Lady 
Elizabeth's exit, William remains for a moment, 
sunk in gloom, staring at the floor. Enter Antoin- 
ette from the side of the garden opposite to that 
on which Lady Elizabeth zvent out, with news- 
paper. Thinking Lady Elizabeth is still in the 
room, William pulls himself together. Seeing An- 
toinette, j Where did you come from ? 

Antoinette. (Approaching him and indicating 
the paper in her hand) Ah! Monsieur le Cham- 
pion! 

William. You've heard the scandal? 

Antoinette. Please to accept my congratula- 
tions, Monsieur le Champion. 

William. Congfratulations — on being kicked out 
of the house? That's what it amounts to. (He 
rings the bell.) 

Antoinette. Is it that they are not proud of you 
— your family? 

William. My father is — he's giving me a loving 
knife. 

(Enter Simmons.^ 

Simmons. You want something, sir? 

William. Yes, Simmons, I want a drink. 

Simmons. Certainly, sir — some mineral water, 
perhaps ? 

William. Perhaps not. Get me a high-ball. 

Simmons. High-ball, sir? 

William. Yes — Highball — whiskey and soda. 



64 THE CHAMPION 

Antoinette. Whiskey ! In this house ! Oo, la, 
la! 

Simmons. I'm very sorry, sir, but Mr. Bur- 
roughs never allows any liquor in the house, sir. 
He's very strict about people enjoying themselves. 

William. Oh, of course. I forgot. 

Simmons. But I could set you a lemon squash. 

William. No thanks — don't care for vegetables. 

Antoinette. Vegetables! Ce n'est pas vege- 
table. 

Simmons. It's not a vegetable — it's a drink, sir. 

William. Whatever it is, I don't want it! 

Simmons. Excuse me, sir, but I've a small bottle 
of my own — kept quite private, in my room, sir. It 
is at your service. 

William. Hooch ? 

Simmons. 'Ooch, sir? 

William. Yes — Hooch — Whiskey! 

Simmons. Oh yes, sir. It's whiskey. 

William. (Rising) Oo! La! La! You didn't 
make it yourself? 

Simmons. Oh no, sir. 

William. All right — try anything once — I'll take 
some. 

Simmons. I thank you, sir. 

William. I thank you, Simmons. 

(Exit Simmons r.) 

Antoinette. Monsieur wish something for to 
drink? 

William. That's it. 

Antoinette. Something to make intoxicante. 
eh? 

William. That's the idea — want to get pickled. 

Antoinette. Pickled! Oo! La! La! Ah, 
Monsieur le Champion, you are very strong, no ! 

William. Eh? 



THE CHAMPION 65 

Antoinette. And brave — no? 

William. What? 

Antoinette. And clever — no? Ah, Monsieur le 
Champion, you know that nice Monsieur Corbett? 

William. Jim Corbett? Oh yes, I know him. 

Antoinette. You fight him — no ? 

William. Yes, I fight him no. He's a heavy- 
weight. 

Antoinette. I see that nice Monsieur Corbett — 
one time he come to Paris — oh, he have veree good 
time in Paris. 

William. Yes, I should think he might if there 
are many there like you. 

Antoinette. Merci M'sieur. You have been to 
Paris? 

William. Oh yes. 

Antoinette. You have happy time in Paris? 

William. Not very — there was a war going on. 

Antoinette. Ah, you were a soldat ! 

William. You said it — I was a soldat. 

Antoinette. And you fight for France! 

William. I fought for something. I guess it 
was France. What's that song the poilus used to 
sing so much — some girl's name ? 

Antoinette. Madelon ? 

William. That's it — how'd it go? (She starts 
to sing '^Madelon/' After having sung it she says.) 

Antoinette. Now you sing it. 

William. I can't sing. 

Antoinette. Yes — yes? 

William. You start it for me. 

(She starts it and he joins in, clumsily at first — has 
much difficulty with the French, but finishes 
strong. Near end of song enter Mary. J 

Mary. (When song is ended) Oh, Bill, how 
beautifully you sing. 



66 THE CHAMPION 

William. Quit your kidding. 

Antoinette. Ah, Monsieur he sing veree well. 

William. Toujours la politesse. 

Antoinette. Du tout — Du tout, m'sieur. 

William. De tout — de tout to you. 

Antoinette. (They speak together) Si vous 
venez a Paris, Monsieur, en vous donnerai une deco- 
ration — des grand banquets — au revoir. Monsieur, 
in my country they would build for you a monument 
— Oo— la— la ! (Exit R.j 

William. What did you say? 

Mary. Oh, Bill — she knows about your being a 
prize fighter. Isn't it exciting? Isn't it fun? 

William. Is it? 

Mary. I think so. 

William. Nice of you to take it that way. 

Mary. Oh, Bill — can't 3^ou understand? You're 
my very best brother. Oh, I don't say anything 
against the others, but you're my idea of what a real 
brother ought to be. I don't care what father says 
— I don't care what anybody says — I don't care what 
anybody thinks ! 

William. You wouldn't care if I robbed a bank. 

Mary. No. 

William. Or set fire to a church? 

Mary. No — I just love you and always shall. 

William. Bless 3^ou. That's the kind of sister 
to have. (Goes up, looks off r.) 

Mary. Bill, are you going to fight anybody over 
here? 

William. Bless your heart — no. My fighting 
days are over — I mean, as a professional, of course, 
I might make an amateur appearance if anybody 
made me sore enough. 

Mary. (Goes to couch L.j Bill, do you know 
what father called you this morning before you came 
in? 



THE CHAMPION 67 

William. Anything- worse than what he called 
me after I came in? 

Mary. He called you an unprincipled adventurer. 

William. Rather mild for father — but he's 
right. 

Mary. Bill 

William. I am an unprincipled adventurer — I 
am a corporation lawyer. 

Mary. Now I suppose you're joking again. You 
know, Bill, sometimes I don't always see the point 
of your jokes. 

William. Never mind, dear. There are quite a 
lot of people in England just like that. 

Mary. Oh, but Bill 

(Enter Simmons r.J 

Simmons. There's a newspaper reporter to see 
you, sir. 

William. Me? 

Simmons. Yes, sir. 

William. You're sure? 

Simmons. Oh yes, sir. He asked for Mr. Gun- 
boat Williams. 

William. Oh, well — I'm in for it — might as well 
go the whole hog. Send him in. 

(Exit Simmons r.) 

Mary. Bill — father will be furious. 

William. Father can't be any more furious than 
he is without bursting — perhaps that would be the 
best thing that could happen. (Enter Reporter r. 
Stands hesitating at door.) Oh, come in. 

Reporter, (c.) Mr. William Burroughs? 

William. Yes. 

Reporter. I represent the Knotley Guardian. 



68 THE CHAMPION 

Perhaps youVe seen our article about you in to-day's 
paper. 

William. I wish I hadn't. 

Reporter. Really? Anything wrong with it? 

William. Oh no — it's splendid — splendid. This 
is my sister, Mr. — er — Mr. — er? 

Reporter. Coykendall. 

William. I beg your pardon. 

Reporter. Coykendall. 

William. Mr. — endall — this is my sister. ('Mary 
sits on sofa.) Please sit down, f Reporter does so 
L. of table R. Puts hat on table.) What can I do 
for you? 

Reporter. Well, sir — as you may have observed 
in our little sketch of your career, there is something 
of a hiatus — I mean to say — after your retirement 
from the ring 

William. Oh, yes. 

Reporter. My editor would like to know — I 
mean to say, if you have no objection 

William. What happened next? 

Reporter. Er — precisely — I mean to say. 

William. I studied law — was admitted to the 
bar — I mean to say, and worked up a practice — not 
much — just a bare living — I mean to say. 

Reporter. Er — might I ask what you mean by 
that expression? 

William. You ought to know — ^you used it your- 
self — I mean to say. 

Reporter. A bare living — I mean to say. What 
do you mean by that ? 

William. Oh, seventy-five or a hundred thou- 
sand dollars a year. 

Reporter. Just fancy! What would that be in 
pounds, shillings and pence? 

William. In the old days — in round numbers — 
somewhere between fifteen and twenty thousand 
pounds. It's more than that now. 



THE CHAMPION 69 

Reporter. Fancy that! 

William. Vm also a statesman. 

Reporter. Really ? 

William. Nobody knows it but me. They'll find 
it out after Tm dead. Just now they call me a 
politician — I'm a member of Congress from Con- 
necticut. 

Reporter. Conneckticut. Isn't that one of your 
states ? 

William. Oh yes — Conneckticut is — one of our 
very finest states, in fact, Conneckticut did not ratify 
the Prohibition Amendment. 

Mary. Bill — what is a member of Congress ? 

William. A member of Congress is a man who 
goes to Washington to misrepresent the people. 

Mary. Oh — just like our members of Parlia- 
ment. 

(Enter Burroughs and George, r.j 

William. Oh, Father — this is Mr. — endall. 
He's a reporter from the Knotley Guardian — and 
my brother, Mr. — endall. I'm being interviewed. 

Burroughs. What ? 

Reporter. How are you, sir? 

Burroughs. I'm not well at all. 

Reporter. Awfully sorry, I'm sure. 

Burroughs. And none the better for your pres- 
ence, either. 

William. Father! 

Burroughs. And I'll be obliged to you if you'll 
go and tell your editor that with my compliments. 

Reporter. Sorry, sir. No wish to intrude. 

Burroughs. I told your editor that when I want 
to see a reporter I will inform him of the fact, sir. 

Reporter. Have you a photograph of yourself, 
sir? 

Burroughs. What for? 



70 THE CHAMPION 

Reporter. For the Knotley Guardian, sir. 

Burroughs. Newspapers — prize fighters — my 
God — what next, I wonder? Get out of my house — 
out — out — out! ^Reporter picks hat off table and 
rushes out c. to r. Enter Simmons door r. with 
flask of zvhiskey. When he sees Burroughs he 
exits quickly door r. To William J And as for 
you, sir. 

William. (Rising) De tout — de tout, Father. 
I know when I'm licked. I heard the count the first 
time. Fm going to pack up now. (Moves to door 

L.; 

Mary. (Behind table R.c.J Bill, shall I send 
Simmons to help you? 

William. Simmons — yes — and tell him to hurry 
up. And Mary — tell Simmons I've got my own 
corkscrew. (Exit l,) 

(Exit Mary r.J 

Burroughs. Oh George — the disgrace — ^the dis- 
grace. (Enter Simmons r.) Well, Simmons? 

Simmons. Several gentlemen to see you, Sir. 

Burroughs. Who are they ? 

Simmons. The Earl of Chuffleigh, sir — ^the Mar- 
quis of Harroween and Baron Holloway. 

Burroughs. Show them in. (Exit Simmons.J 
Great Heavens! They've all heard the news. It's 
a delegation. They've come to protest against the 
degradation of our fair city. 

George. Come to protest against my candidacy 
for Parliament — more likely. It's a big smash-up. 
Pater. 

Burroughs. Well, it can't be helped. George, I 
shall die for shame. 

(Enter Earl, Marquis, Baron, r.^ 



THE CHAMPION 71 

Earl. Hello! Hello! Hello! Burroughs! How 
d*ye do — how d'ye do? 

Burroughs. (Bowing) Your lordship. 

Earl. Don't know if you know the Marquis of 
Harroween. 

Burroughs. (Bowing) Your lordship. 

Earl. Baron Holloway. 

Burroughs. (Bowing) Your lordship. 

Earl. Well, here we are you know. Daresay 
you know what we've come for. 

Burroughs. Alas, your Lordship, I fear I do, 
all too well. I beg you not to be too hard upon me. 

Earl. Hard upon you. What the devil do you 
mean? 

Marquis. I say, Chuff — what's the old Johnny 
talking about? 

Earl. I don't know. We've come to see your 
son. 

Burroughs. Eh? 

Earl. Yes — ^yes — ^yes. The Champion, of course. 
Where is he ? 

Baron. Yes — trot him out — damn it. 

Burroughs. Your Lordship! 

Marquis. Yes — yes — yes. Where the deuce is 
he? 

Earl. Look here, Burroughs — what the devil do 
you mean, keeping us in the dark like this, eh? 
What — what — what ? 

Marquis. Yes. What the deuce do you mean? 

Burroughs. I'm distressed beyond measure your 
Lordship. But I assure you 

Marquis. Tut — tut — tut ! That's a likely story 
— eh, Holloway? 

Baron. I'm completely baffled. 

Burroughs. Gentlemen — gentlemen ! I beg you 
to believe that this prize fighter is none of my doing. 

Earl. Eh, what — what — what! Fancy Mrs. 
Burroughs would have something to say to that, 



^2 THE CHAMPION 

what — what — what! (They all laugh — and bus,) 

Marquis. Look here, Burroughs — what the deuce 
are you driving at? 

Burroughs. I wouldn^t have had it happen for 
the world. 

Earl. Had what happen ? 

Burroughs. All this disgraceful publicity. 

Earl. Look here, Burroughs — have you gone 
balmy! Here's the town of Knotley — town that is 
dear to all of us — goes and breeds the Champion of 
the world — damn it — and you keep it quiet for 
years. Burroughs it's dashed unpatriotic of you ! 

Burroughs. W-h-h-at ? 

Earl. And you call yourself an Englishman. 
What the devil do you mean by it? 

Marquis. Precisely ! 

Baron. Exactly ! 

(Enter Simmons k.^ 

Simmons. The Mayor and a delegation. 

(Enter Mayor, Board of Trade Delegation, Mooney 
and Reporter, r.^ 

Earl, Marquis and Baron. Ah! The Mayor! 
Hello! — Cruikshank — how are you? 

Mayor. Your Lordship — gentlemen — Mr. Bur- 
roughs — our profound congratulations. We're here, 
of course, to see the Champion and to welcome him 
to his native Knotley in the name of the City and the 
Board of Trade. (They all clap their hands, crying : 
''Bravo,'' etc.) At a meeting of the Board of Trade 
last evening these gentlemen and myself were ap- 
pointed a Committee to wait upon the Champion 
and request him to do us the honor of being our 
guest at a dinner at the Town Hall on some evening 
convenient to himself. (Applause.) Representing 



THE CHAMPION 73 

as I do the Town of Knotley — I — ^but, where is he? 
Burroughs. Eh? 
Mayor. Where is he, I say? 
George. He's just dashed out for a moment. 
Mayor. Dashed out ! 

^William enters door l. with travelling bag and 
hat in hand.) 

Earl. Hello ! Hello ! Hello ! This must be the 
Champion now. 

Marquis. (To BaronJ Yes — yes — yes, of 
course. Spot him anywhere. Looks just like his 
picture. 

Earl. (Crosses to William c.) My dear Sir — 
allow me the distinguished honor of shaking you by 
the hand — Earl of Chuffleigh, you know? 

William. (Putting down bag and hat, shaking 
hands) Why, certainly, Earl! 

Burroughs. Good Heavens! 

Earl. My friend the Marquis of Harroween — 
drinks damn bad whiskey, but a good fellow for all 
that. 

Marquis. How do you do, Mr. Burroughs. 

William. (Shaking hands) Thanks, Marquis, 
I'm quite well. 

Marquis. (Wincing at handshake) Ha — ha! 
Quite well. Droll fellow, eh, Chuffleigh? Quite 
well, ha I ha ! Quite well I I should think he was. 

Earl. Baron Holloway. 

Baron. (Shaking hands with William J Great 
occasion! Great occasion! 

MooNEY. Cr. of WiLLiAMJ The Mayor wants 
to shake hands with you. (Bus. William shakes 
hands with Mayor, members of the Board of Trade, 
etc. Enter Mrs. Burroughs l. Earl, Marquis 
and Baron see her and rush over to greet her. 



74 THE CHAMPION 

They all cross from l. to r. Chatter is general from 
everybody — laughter — congratulations, etc) 

Earl. And now, gentlemen (Everybody is 

quiet and listens,) Allow me to propose three 
hearty English cheers for the Champion of the 

world. All together now — Hip — hip — hip 

(Omnes.) Hurrah ! 

Baron. (After others) Hurrah ! 

Marquis. And now — allow me to propose — 
three hearty English cheers for the mother of the 
Champion of the world — and together now — Hip — 
hip — hip (Omnes.) Hurrah ! 

Baron. (After others) Hurrah ! 

William. (Seeing his father dozvnhearted and 
dejected) And now, gentlemen, allow me to pro- 
pose, three hearty English cheers for the father of 
the Champion of the world! All together now— 
Hip — ^hip — hip (Omnes.) Hurrah ! 

Baron. (After others) Hurrah ! 

George. (Comes down c, holds out hand to Wil- 
liam j I say, Bill, old top — shake! By Gad — I 
always knew you were a winner. (Business.) 

William. Trust you to pick the winner, George. 

Gentlemen, I thank you very much and now 

(Picking up his bag.) I must be off. 

Earl. I say — where are you going? 

William. Vm going to the Inn. 

Earl. No room for the Champion in his father's 
house ? 

Burroughs. Really, your Lordship 

Earl. No, no. There's no possible defence — it's 
disgraceful. (To William. j Here — I say — you'll 
come with me to the Grange. 

Baron. Not a bit of it. Come and stay with me 
at the Manor. 

Marquis. Absurd. You'll be my guest at the 
Castle. 



THE CHAMPION 75 

Earl. My dear fellow — the Countess is most 
anxious to meet you. 

Baron. Lady Holloway would be charmed. 

(Board of Trade and Reporter exit c. to l. Baron, 
Marquis and William turn and start to exit 
c. MooNEY and Mayor pick up hag simultane- 
ously and struggle for the possession of it. Earl 
rushes between them, drags the bag out of their 
hands. Mooney and Mayor exit followed by 
Earl — alone — carying the bag proudly, while 
Mr. Burroughs, aghast, looks on. PICTURE. 

CURTAIN 



ACT III 

Scene : The same. But the room is entirely trans- 
formed. All the old stuffy furniture is gone. 
In its place is a lot of furniture which you 
would find in a Club Smoking room — easy 
leather chairs, 4 round tables with ash trays, 
match stands, glasses, whiskey bottles, etc., on 
tables. Boxing gloves, foils and other sporting 
things scattered about the room. 

At rise of curtain all the men are discovered 
sitting round the tables with glasses in their 
hands. Mr. Burroughs is standing c. Mary 
and Antoinette are peeping in at back. 

Animated conversation heard as Curtain 
rises. 

Burroughs. Yes — gentlemen. Positively that is 
the way it occurred. 

Marquis. (Who has been asleep — awakens sud- 
denly) Eh what— what! What's this? What oc- 
curred ? 

Burroughs. I was telling these gentlemen how 
my boy defeated K. O. Sweeney in their historic 
altercation at a place called Reno. 

Mayor. Reno? Where's that? 

MooNEY. A suburb of Chicago. 

Burroughs. To resume what I was saying — it 
was not until the eleventh period. 

Earl. I say, you mean "round," don't you? — 
Round — not period. 

76 



THE CHAMPION ^^ 

Burroughs. Possibly that is so. 

Earl. Well, say round then — say round. Period 
— my word ! 

Burroughs. Well, sir — as I was observing, in 
the eleventh — er — period my son struck K. O. 
Sweeney very severely in the abdomen — so severely 
that Mr. Sweeney lay down upon the floor to rest 
for a few moments. But it was not until the seven- 
teenth period that my son struck him a knock in the 
cardiac region. 

Earl. Gave him a right to the heart, didn't he? 

Burroughs. Er — yes, your Lordship. Precisely. 

Earl. Why the devil don't you say so. 

Burroughs. Such was my intention, I assure 
you. And then — gentlemen — then came the final 
period. My son quickly executed a vertical move- 
ment with his unemployed glove, like this — and the 
swiftly moving glove encountered Mr. Sweeney in 
the region of the lower maxillary, so that he reclined 
somewhat hastily upon the floor, and — I am in- 
formed that he remained unconscious for a consid- 
erable period — er — round. (Goes up hack.) 

('Mary and Antoinette exit,) 

Baron. (To Marquis j Recites very well, 
doesn't he ? 

Marquis. I wonder if he knows "Gunga Din." 

Reporter. (To Burroughs J That was a great 
fight, Mr. Burroughs. 

Burroughs. I'll say so. 

(Enter William r., with two cocktail shakers in his 
hands which he shakes as he comes in. All the 
men greet him.) 

Marquis. Boys! What's the matter with Gun- 
boat Williams ? 



7% THE CHAMPION 

All. He*s all right. 

MooNEY. Who's all right? 

All. Gunboat Williams. 

William. And now, gentlemen — I want to intro- 
duce you to an American cocktail. 

Baron. Fve had the pleasure before. 

William. Hope you don't disHke them. 

Baron. Best thing in the States. 

William. Perhaps not quite that but as an 
American invention it ranks with the telephone and 
the sewing machine. 

MooNEY. (Crosses to c. Taking one cocktail 
shaker from William j Allow me, Mr. Burroughs 
— this is more in my line. I'm going to introduce 
these to the Blue Cow. (^Mooney and William fill 
all the cocktail glasses around the table.) 

('Marquis starts to sing ''A Wee Doch and Dons'* 
— the rest all join in and sing two verses. When 
it is finished Earl rises.) 

Earl. And now, gentlemen, to England ! (Every- 
body rises and drinks cocktail.) 

All. To England ! 

Marquis. (Smacking his lips) It has a message. 
(Everybody sits except Earl and William. j 

Earl. I say, how do you make them? 

William. One-third pep— two- thirds pluck — ^and 
a dash of generosity. 

Earl. Do you mean to tell me the American peo- 
ple have legislated these things out of existence ? 

William. They have. 

Earl. My God! They don't deserve their free- 
dom. Two or three more of these and Fd be a 
champion myself. Often think if I'd not been what 
I am rd like to have been a fighter. Fact, often 
dream that Tm in the jolly old ring, you know, 
knocking out no end of chaps. (He spars ivith 



THE CHAMPION 79 

William and falls in chair — is counted out — bell 
rings. Enter Mrs. Burroughs J Ah! Enter the 
heroine of the evening! 

Marquis. Madam — this must indeed be a proud 
night for you. 

Mrs. Burroughs. I thank your Lordship — it is. 

William. Gentlemen, you know how it is with 
mothers — they don't need much of an excuse to be 
proud of their sons. 

Mrs. Burroughs. It would be a still happier 
night if I were not to lose him again so soon. 

All. (Bus.) What — going away — so soon — 
leaving us, etc., etc. 

Mrs. Burroughs. He leaves us to-morrow on his 
way back to his duties in America. 

Earl. That's a pity. 

Mrs. Burroughs. And now, gentlemen — I leave 
you to your merry-making. 

Marquis. What's that? You're not going to 
dine with us? 

Mrs. Burroughs. Oh no — all the ladies of the 
household have dined already. 

Burroughs. Yes — gentlemen. We thought it 
best to make a purely stag affair. 

Earl. Devilish poor idea — in my opinion. I'm 
always strong for the chiffon myself. (Everybody 
laughs.) 

Mrs. Burroughs. Gentlemen, will you go in to 
dinner ? 

Marquis. (Crosses to Mrs. Burroughs. Takes 
her hand) Will the mother of the Champion do us 
the honor to show us the way? 

Mrs. Burroughs. With pleasure. ('Marquis 
starts to sing: ''Here's to the Maiden/' and when 
the chortis is reached they all dance out singing, 
leaving Burroughs and William on stage.) 

Burroughs. (Breathless, at the door — r.) Are 
you coming, William? 



8o THE CHAMPION 

William, (u) I want to talk to you first, 
Father. 

Burroughs. Why, certainly — my dear son. 

William. I've been thinking that all this is 
rather rough on you. 

Burroughs. What can you mean? 

William. All this advertisement of your dis- 
grace. 

Burroughs. Disgrace ? 

William. It will all be in the Knotley Guardian 
to-morrow. 

Burroughs. Rather ! Mr. — Endall is here now. 
I gave him a complete list of all the guests, and a 
copy of my photo for the Knotley Guardian. 

William. Father — ^you're awfully nice about it. 

Burroughs. Eh? 

William. When I know how you must be suf- 
fering. 

Burroughs. Suffering? 

William. Of course — flying in the face of all 
your principles like this. It's just as you said — 
you'll never be able to hold up your head in this 
community again. But I'll tell you what I'm going 
to do. By and by I'll have to make a speech, I 
suppose, and when I do, I'm going to set you right. 
I'm going to say: "Gentlemen: My father, under 
all his smiles, is really boiling with indignation. He 
really thinks I am a disgrace and that you're a lot of 
scandalous old sports who would be run out of the 
community if the Town had any spunk. He 
thinks " 

Burroughs. For God's sake, my son, don't — 
don't — have you gone mad? What on earth would 
they think? 

William. Don't you want me to tell the truth? 

Burroughs. God forbid. Besides, it wouldn't be 
the truth. 

William. Then, you're not ashamed of me? 



THE CHAMPION 8i 

Burroughs. Ashamed of you? What an idea! 
Why, the Earl was saying to me this very morning, 
that he wished he had such a son, and the Marquis 
clapped his hands and cried: "Bravo!" 

William. Cried "Bravo!" did he? 

Burroughs. Yes — yes. 

William. Cried Bravo! The Marquis? Did 
he ? Well — well ! I have not lived in vain. (They 
exit R. — arms around each other. Applause heard 
off R. Simmons enters c. with Smith. j 

Smith. It's all right — I tell you it's all right. 

Simmons, (r.) I'll let Mr. William know you 
are here, sir — but I'm afraid he can't see you. 

Smith, Anything the matter with his eyes? 

Simmons. Oh, no, sir! 

Smith. Then it's all right. Tell him that Frank 
Smith of Mexico is here and would like to see him. 
Give him that card. 

Simmons. But his father's entertaining some 
guests. 

Smith. That's all right. I don't want to see his 
father. I want to see him. Get me ! (As Simmons 
stares.) Oh, go on, Fatty Arbuckle, and tell him! 
(^Simmons exits r.u. Smith in disgust.) Now I 
know why Ireland wants her freedom. 

('Mary and Antoinette run on from r.c. giggling 
— they run into Smith. J 

Mary. Oh ! I beg your pardon. 
Antoinette. Pardon, M'sieur. 
Smith. Don't mention it, ladies. 
Mary. Are you a guest? 
Smith. I'm here on a sort of mission. 
Mary. Are you from America? 
Smith. Yes. I'm an American. 
Antoinette. Ah ! Americaine. 
Smith. That's it — a merry cane. 



82 THE CHAMPION 

("William enters R.u., card in hand. Tmns to thi 
two girls,) 

William. Will you children run away and play 
— Mr. Smith wants to talk with me on business. (Tlie 
girls giggle and exit c.) So, are you Frank Smith! 

Smith. Yes, sir — are you the Hon. William Bur- 
roughs ! 

William. Guilty. 

Smith. Shake! I'm glad to meet a real human 
being. 

William. Heard of you — hardly thought to meet 
you here for the first time. 

Smith. Is funny how things turn out — lucky I 
happened to be in Boston when your partner wired 
our office — caught the next boat and here I am. 

William. Have a good crossing? 

Smith. Fine! Came on a wet boat. Get my 
wireless ? 

William. Yes. I was expecting you here to- 
night. My partner cables that you were the engineer 
in charge of a mine called the Silver Girl. 

Smith. That's right — bossed that job eight years. 

William. You were there when the mine shut 
down? 

Smith. I sure was. 

William. And you met Lord Brockington there? 

Smith. Yes — saw his high and mightiness every 
day for a week of so. 

(Hunting song heard off.) 

William. Some friends of mine. Come on in 
and meet some English noblemen. 
Smith. I met that big fat guy. 
William. Oh, he's the butler. (They both exit 

R.V.) 



THE CHAMPION 83 

(Singing continues. Enter Brockington and An- 
toinette — c.j 

Brockington. What's that? 

Antoinette. Mr. Burroughs is giving a party in 
honor of his son. 

Brockington. Oh, in honor of the candidate for 
Parliament. 

(Enter Lady Elizabeth. J 

Lady Elizabeth. Mademoislle, will you kindly 
tell Simmons to ask Mr. William Burroughs if he 
will be good enough to come here? 

Antoinette. Certainment, Milady. Pardon, 
Milord. (Exit R.j 

Brockington. What d'ye want with him? 

Lady Elizabeth. He has often expressed a de- 
sire to meet you. 

Brockington. Really? So the old bird is ban- 
queting the gold fish ? 

Lady Elizabeth. These people are my friends. 
I am their guest — and I won't have you speak dis- 
paragingly of them. If you have come to apolo- 
gize 

Brockington. I haven't — I've come to give you 
an ultimatum. 

Lady Elizabeth. Really? 

Brockington. I will not brook any further in- 
terference in my management of your affairs — d'ye 
understand ? 

Lady Elizabeth. What are you talking about? 

Brockington. Come — come — don't try to bluff 
me! 

Lady Elizabeth. Freddy, I give you my word — 

Brockington. Do you mean to tell me you don't 
know that a detective agency has been inquiring into 
my management of your business? 



84 THE CHAMPION 

Lady Elizabeth. Certainly not. 

Brockington. I don't believe you. 

Lady Elizabeth. Freddy, I give you my word 
I know nothing about it. 

Brockington. Well, it doesn't matter a damn to 
me whether you know it or not — it's a fact. Now, 
the point is this — (Enter William r.j — either you 
have it stopped at once or I wash my hands of your 
affairs for good and all. You can take your choice. 

Lady Elizabeth. Certainly. It shall be stopped 
at once. (Introducing.) Mr. William Burroughs — 
Lord Brockington. 

Brockington. How d'ye do? 

William. How d'ye do. Lady Elizabeth, you 
sent for me. 

Lady Elizabeth. Yes — you said you wanted to 
meet Lord Brockington. (Goes up stage,) 

William. I did. So you are Lord Brockington. 
You are Lady Elizabeth's trustee — and you have 
reported to her for the past three years that Silver 
Girl has suspended paying dividends. 

Brockington. Is that any business of yours ? 

William. Lady Elizabeth, I have one or two 
things to say to Lord Brockington and I should be 
very glad if you'd allow me to say them in private. 

Lady Elizabeth. I'm sorry, but there's been too 
much going on of late in private. May I stay? 
(Lady Elizabeth goes up l. Brockington crosses 
to L.) 

William. As you wish. (Enter Simmons. J 
Simmons, tell Mr. Smith I should like to speak to 
him a moment. (To Brockington. j You 
see, sir, there's a gentleman here who has come quite 
a long way to see you. 

Simmons. (Announcing) Mr. Smith. 

Smith. (To Simmonsj What do you want? 

William. Simmons, look after Mr. Smith's lug- 



THE CHAMPION 85 

gfage. (Exit Simmons c.) Smith, I believe you 
have met his Lordship. 

Smith. (Crosses to Brockington. Offers hand) 
How are you, Lord Brockington? 

Brockington. You have the advantage of me, 
sir. 

Smith, (c) Oh, I guess not — I'm Frank Smith. 
Superintendent of the Silver Girl. 

Brockington. (l.) I don't remember you at 
all, sir. 

Smith. Is that so? Saw you every day for a 
week three years ago in Mexico — I guess you re- 
member being there. 

Brockington. Certainly I was there — strange I 
don't recall you. 

William, (r. up stage. Cheerfully) Almost 
incredible ! 

Brockington. See here, Burroughs, if youVe 
had anything to do with this confounded interfer- 
ence in my affairs, allow me to tell you 

William. One moment, please, let's get through 
with Mr. Smith — then we'll come to me. 

Brockington. No, sir — no — I'll not be dictated 
to by any third rate 

Lady Elizabeth. Freddy — Freddy — ^let's hear 
what the man has to say. 

William. Smith, what was the condition of the 
mine up to the time Lord Brockington came there? 

Smith. Great — continuous production record for 
over ten years. 

William. What were its prospects ? 

Smith. Swell! Tests showed high-grade ore 
enough to keep two shifts going for three years sure, 
and nobody knows how much longer. 

Brockington. That's a damned lie! 

Smith. (Bristling up for a fight) What ! 

William. That's not your end of this! 

Smith. Hornswoggled hippopotamus! 



86 THE CHAMPION 

William. Got any evidence ! 

Smith. (Producing document) Sworn state- 
ment of Haskell, Bryant & Haskell, certified ac- 
countants, Boston, showing operations since opening 
of the mine. (Produces second document.) Sworn 
estimate of future prospects signed by Dolan & Hop- 
kins, mining engineers, New York. 

Brockington. I tell you I employed the best 
engineers in America and they all assured me the 
mine was worked out. 

William. Mind telling us who they were? 

Brockington. (Furiously) I don*t intend to 
answer any questions from you, sir. 

Lady Elizabeth. Who were they, Freddy? 

Brockington. (Dashed by her attitude) Do you 
mean to say you are going to allow this impudent 
fellow to cross-examine me? 

Lady Elizabeth. I confess I see no harm in 
your identifying these engineers. 

Brockington. Why, I don't recall their names 
off-hand — I have their report in my office. 

William. (To SmithJ Ever see any engineers 
around the mine except Dolan and Hopkins ? 

Smith. No, sir. 

William. Would it have been possible for any 
other engineers to have examined the mine without 
your knowing it. 

Smith. Not much ! Couldn't be done. 

William. Perhaps Lady Elizabeth would like 
to know what his Lordship did at the mine. 

Lady Elizabeth. I should — ^very much. 

William. That's your end of it, Smith. 

Smith. Went all through it — asked a lot of ques- 
tions — and finally ordered me to suspend operations, 
close the mine up and put in a keeper — all of which 
I did. 

William. Did he give any reasons ? 

Brockington. Certainly I did. I told this man 



THE CHAMPION 87 

— (Indicating SmithJ — that my engineers told me 
the mine could no longer be worked at a profit. 

William. I thought you didn't remember Mr. 
Smith. 

Brockington. Well, I didn't at first. 

William. But now you do? 

Brockington. Yes. 

William. Glad your memory is improving. 
How's your memory working, Smith? 

Smith. Ball-bearing! 

William. Does your memory agree with his 
Lordship's on this point? 

Smith. Nix. 

William. How so? 

Smith. His Lordship told me he was closing up 
the mine because of complications in the manage- 
ment of the estate — but that it would be re-opened 
in a few months. 

William. How did that strike you? 

Smith. I thought it was nonsense and said so. 

William. What did his Lordship say to that? 

Smith. Told me to mind my own business. 

William. And then what did you do? 

Smith. Minded my own business. 

Brockington. What nonsense! Betty, I ask 
you — did you ever hear such a silly piece of drivel? 
Your father owned about three quarters of this 
mine — and if I had closed it up under such circum- 
stances, don't you suppose the holders of the re- 
maining quarter interest would have raised an out- 
cry you could hear from New York to London? 

William. Well, Smith — what about it? 

Smith. Well, sir, I heard that while Lord Brock- 
ington was in New York he bought up pretty much 
all the loose shares that were floating about. Of 
course the price dropped when the mine shut down. 

William. Well — well — that's interesting. 



88 THE CHAMPION 

Lady Elizabeth. Freddy, do you own any 
shares in the Silver Girl ? 

Brockington. Why, yes, a few — why not? 

William. Yes, of course, why not? Wish I 
owned a few myself. ("Smith and William laugh.) 

Smith. Me too! 

William. Er — did you buy these shares before 
you closed the mine or afterward? 

Brockington. What difference does that make? 

William. Excuse me — but aren't you a little 
dense? Do you wish to ask Mr. Smith any ques- 
tions ? 

Brockington. I will not degrade myself to that 
extent. 

William. Smith, is there anything you would 
like to ask his Lordship? 

Smith. No! I don't want to talk to him! 

William. Well, then, Smith, we'll excuse you. 
Go in and meet some more Englishmen. 

Smith. I don't want to meet anybody. (Exit r.J 

William. (Calling after him) Get acquainted 
with Mr. Mooney. He's done more for me than any 
other man in England. 

Brockington. (Bursting out) Betty, why don't 
you turn this fellow out? Are you going to stand 
there and hear my integrity impeached with a lot 
of silly lies and never open your mouth about it? 
(No answer.) Well — well — why don't you speak ? 

Lady Elizabeth. (Sorrowfully) Freddy — 
Freddy ! 

William. And now, dear Lady Elizabeth, I really 
think that what remains to be said had best be said 
in your absence. 

Lady Elizabeth. I quite agree with you. (Exit 
through tvindow l.) 

Brockington. I've nothing further to say to you, 
sir. 

William. Ah, but I have to you. 



THE CHAMPION 89 

Brockington. Well, what have you got to say? 
William. Just this — You are a blackguard and 
a thief. 

('Brockington lunges at William. He ducks and 
escapes the blow.) 

Brockington. Really, one can't get into a vulgar 
brawl in a total stranger's house. 

William. We have a garden, and it's a moon- 
light night. 

Brockington. You! Ha — ha — ha! Well — well 
— that's an idea — dashed good idea, too. Pity you're 
not a little bigger. 

William. Oh, that'll be all right. Will you do 
me the honor? 

Brockington. Yes, I'll do you the honor, and 
I'll do it so well that her ladyship won't recognize 
you. Come on. (He laughs loudly and exits c. to 
R. As he exits, takes off his coat.) 

fWiLLiAM stands for a moment thinking. Takes 
ring off his finger — takes off his coat and exits 
whistling. Enter David^ c. from l. followed 
by Simmons carrying suitcase. They come 
down stage.) 

David. What's he taking off his coat for? 

Simmons. I suppose he's hot, sir. 

David Hot ? 

Simmons. Yes, sir. I trust you enjoyed your 
stay in London, Mister David. 

David. Very much, thanks. Yes. (He looks 
round room.) Good Heavens — Simmons — what's 
the meaning of all this? 

Simmons. It's the master's idea, sir. 

David. Eh ? 

Simmons. (Puts down bag, goes to table L., and 



90 THE CHAMPION 

arranges bottles on table) Oh yes, sir. We've made 
a change or two since youVe been gone, sir. 

David. I should think so. What's that you have 
in your hand? 

Simmons. Whiskey, sir. 

David. Whiskey in this house? 

Simmons. Oh yes, sir! 

David. I shan't believe it till I taste it. 

Simmons. Oh, sir — I assure you. 

David. I say I shan't believe it till I taste it. 

Simmons. Yes, sir. Quite so, sir. (Bus. with 
bottle and glass.) Will you say sufficient, sir ? 

David. Say what? 

Simmons. Sufficient — sir. 

David. What for? 

Simmons. When it's sufficient, sir. 

David. Oh-h-h! Sufficient! 

Simmons. (Bus.) Soda, sir? (Bus.) 

David. Thanks. (Bus.) Sufficient! (Bus. of 
drinking.) Well, now — tell me — what's the meaning 
of all this? 

Simmons. Your father is giving a party. 

David. In honor of my return? 

Simmons. Well, you see it's this way, sir, (Voices 
heard off.) 

Marquis. (Off stage) I say, when is that son 
of yours coming in? 

Simmons. Excuse me, sir — ^they may be wanting 
something. (Exit r.J 

Marquis. (Off stage) I say, old top — when is 
that son of yours coming in? 

David. Bless my soul, I mustn't keep them wait- 
ing. (Applause heard off stage.) I'm coming — I'm 
coming. (Exit n.) 

(Enter William, whistling and putting on his coat. 
He pulls the bell. Enter Lady Elizabeth. J 



THE CHAMPION 91 

Lady Elizabeth. Mr. Burroughs! 
William. Yes? 
Lady Elizabeth. I saw it all. 
William. You did? 
Lady Elizabeth. Yes! 
William. I'm awfully sorry. 
Lady Elizabeth. I think you're wonderful? 
Aren't you hurt? 
William. Oh, no! 
Lady Elizabeth. Ah, you are a champion! 

(Enter Simmons.j 

William. Simmons, you'll find a — a person in 
the garden. Do what you can for him. (Exit Sim- 
MONS.J Don't worry — he's not seriously hurt — 
just feels a little cut up. 

Lady Elizabeth. I'm not worrying about him. 
Whatever he got, he deserved it. But how on earth 
did you find out about him ? 

William. Well, father always said George was 
a clever lawyer. 

Lady Elizabeth. Do you mean to say your 
brother did all this? 

(Enter George.j 

George. What ho! Committee of one to find 
out what's become of the guest of honor. 

William. Thanks, old man. I'm coming right 
away. 

George. Not that you're missing much, dear old 
delightful. The Pater's making a speech. Oh, he's 
in rare form. But I say, Bill, jolly good tip you 
gave me. I've tried it on already. 

William. Any luck? 

George. By Jove — ^yes! We had a spiffing old 
row about your big fight, you know. I stood right 



92 THE CHAMPION 

up to him. Sorry you weren't there to hear me — 
by Jove I am. 

William. That's the stuff, George. Father's all 
right, only he's had his way too much — and that's 
bad for anyone — don't you think so, Lady Eliza- 
beth? 

George. I'm afraid Lady Elizabeth is having a 
rather dull evening. 

Lady Elizabeth. On the contrary, it's the most 
exciting evening of my whole life! (Crossing to 
George .J And I want to thank you for a very, 
very great service. 

George. What service? 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, don't play the modest 
violet any longer. I know now it was really you 
who exposed my cousin. 

George. Who said I did? 

Lady Elizabeth. Your brother. 

George. That's just like dear old Bill. He did 
the bally investigating himself. Oh, I did some of 
the running, but it was all Bill's idea. He wanted 
me to take the credit of it — thought it would give 
me a sort of standing as a lawyer. (Crosses to 
William. j But it won't work, Bill. You've taught 
me one thing, dear old precious — a chap's got to 
stand on his own feet — or else he might — er — jolly 
well sit down. 

William. Bully for you, George. We'll make a 
man of you yet. 

George. (Shaking Bill's hand) No — will you 
really, Bill? That will be awfully good of you. 
(Crosses up l.) 

Lady Elizabeth. And you weren't going to tell 
me. Do you think that's fair? 

William. Well, I thought you might not care 
to be under obligations — no matter how slight — to 
a prize fighter. 



THE CHAMPION 93 

Lady Elizabeth. What a snob you must think 
me! 

(Enter Baron, Mayor, Mooney, Reporter — rJ 

Baron. I say, why aren't you. at your own bally 
dinner ? 

William. I was just coming back. 

Lady Elizabeth. I'm afraid it's all my fault. 

Mayor. Cherchez la femme! When in doubt 
look for the lady. 

(Enter Burroughs, Earl and others — R.j 

Earl. (To William J Mr. Burroughs, will you 
answer me one question frankly? 

William. Why, certainly. 

Earl. Your father informs me that yoti are an 
American citizen. Is that so? 

William. Father is right — ^as usual. 

Mayor. Well — here we are — gathered together 
to celebrate a British triumph and, dash it all — it 
turns out we're shouting our heads off for America ! 

William. And what of it, sir? 

Mayor. Eh ? 

William. America's my home. All that I have 
she's given me. My home, my friends, my property. 
I expect to live with her till I die. Shouldn't I be 
a pretty ungrateful sort of a chap if I didn't do what 
little I could for her when she's done so much for 
me? 

Earl. Something in what you say, sir. Bound to 
admit it. 

Mayor. Mighty good remarks, I'll say. 

George. Yes, he gets them from father. 

Mayor, Gentlemen — a few minutes ago the 
Champion drank with us to England. Now let us 



94 THE CHAMPION 

honor him by all singing the American National 
Anthem. 

All. Yes, of course — certainly, etc., etc. 

William. Thank you. Now, all together. 

('MooNEY starts singing "Yankee Doodle." Stops 
on ''stuck a feather in his hat" Marquis starts 
''Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean!' They all 
join in and sing two lines and then stop. Baron 
sings "Stuck a feather in his hat and called him 
macaroni." Enter Smith r.J 

Smith. Whafs that? 

William. Singing the American National An- 
them. They know it about as well as we do. And 
now, gentlemen, you've been very kind to me. Will 
you do one more thing to please me? 

Earl, Marquis, Baron. Certainly! Give it a 
name, etc., etc. 

William. Well, as you know, my brother is 
running for Parliament. Will you back him for the 
office? 

Earl. (Hesitatingly) H-m-m, well — ^you see — 
the difficulty is — he's a Conservative — and most of 
us are of the Liberal contingent. (^George crosses 
to R. c.) 

William. Yes, but George is a Liberal Conser- 
vative, you know. 

George. Yes, by Jove. Vm frightfully Liberal. 

MooNEY. But what I want to know is — ^are you 
for Prohibition? 

George. Yes. 

Mayor. What? 

George. No. 

Mayor and Mooney. What ? 

George, Er — er — ^yes and no, gentlemen. 

Mayor. He's a mug of half-and-half. 



THE CHAMPION 95 

George. (To Earlj Well, you see, your Lord- 
ship — it's this way. 

Earl. Oh politics is all a lot of bally rot anyhow. 

William. What do you say, Earl? 

Earl. V\\ swallow brother George if the rest of 
you chaps are willing. What do you say, Holloway ? 

Baron. Right-o Chuffleigh! I'll — swallow him. 
What do you say, Harroween? 

Marquis. Oh, very well. Tve swallowed a lot 
of worse pills. 

(Enter Brockington c. — with Simmons — from 
Garden. Brockington very much battered up.) 

Earl. Hello! Hello! Hello! Why it's Brock- 
ington. 

Baron. I say — what Ho! Freddy! 

Earl. What the deuce have you been up to ? 

Brockington. I — I — er — met with a slight acci- 
dent. 

Earl. Not so dashed slight — what! 

William. Lord Brockington was thrown from 
his horse, you see. 

Earl. Ah — I see. Since when have you taken 
to riding in your dress clothes, Brockington? Come, 
— come! You've been in a jolly old fight. 

Baron. Freddy — you're a sight. 

Earl. How did it happen, Freddy ? 

Brockington. I tell you it was an accident. 

Earl. Tut — tut — ^tut! Might as well make a 
clean breast of it. 

Brockington. Thanks, Chuffleigh — not just now. 

So, if you'll excuse me (Picks up coat from 

chair R. and starts to exit.) 

Burroughs. My dear Lord Brockington, you 
really must accept my hospitality. 

Brockington. Thanks. I've had all of your 
hospitality I want. Good-night. 



96 THE CHAMPION 

David. (Back of table R.J Oh, Fve got it ! 

Burroughs. "What? 

David. He has been having a little debate with 
Gunboat Williams. (Everybody laughs.) 

Earl. Oh, I say, Brockington. Little debate 
with Gunboat Williams ! Oh, you royal old ass ! 

Brockington. What's that about Gunboat Wil- 
liams ? (Business.) 

William. Some people call me that. 

Brockington. Good God! 

William. Yes. 

Brockington. Oh, I say! (Bus. He exits 
quickly c. to l. Everybody laughs as he exits.) 

Smith. (Comes down — takes William's hand 
and laughs) Good boy ! 

Burroughs. Really, I wouldn't have had this 
happen for the world. 

Earl. Nonsense. That chap's been going about 
licking chaps for years. Awfully clever boxer, you 

know. First fight he ever lost (To William. j 

I say, old chap, do tell us about it. 

William. Well, you see. Lord Brockington and 
I differed as to how a certain game should be 
played. 

Earl. What game? 

William. Well, in America we call it "confi- 
dence." 

Earl. What about this confidence game? 

William. I'll tell you all about it while we are 
having our coffee. (They all sing : ''Drink, Puppy, 
Drink" and exit R,) 

Smith. What's the matter with those guys? 

William. They're singing. 

Smith. Oh, is that so? (Business.) Are you 
sure they were only singing? 

Willla^m. Sure. 

Smith. You don't say. (Exit r.) 



THE CHAMPION 97 

(Enter Lady Elizabeth lJ 

Lady Elizabeth. Tm greatly indebted to your 
friend from America. 

William. Oh, Smith! He's all right. 

Lady Elizabeth. Do you still think me a snob? 

William. No — no! Not at all! Never did! 
Now that I think of it — I can think of a -vhole flock 
of fighters that I shouldn't care to have you under 
obligation to. But — well, I suppose a fellow can't 
help feeling a little differently about himself. Hope 
you'll overlook it. I'm off to-morrow — and I 
shouldn't wonder if I never saw you again. But 
you've been mighty sweet to me. I suppose it's just 
your nature — you're kind to everyone. Well, it's 
the sort of thing a fellow never forgets. 

Lady Elizabeth. Is it? 

William. Not this fellow, anyhow. And — ^well 
I guess that's about all. So it's good-bye and God 
bless you — whatever you do and wherever you are. 

Lady Elizabeth. Oh, but I'm going to see you 
again. 

Willi a m . You are ? 

Lady Elizabeth. Yes, I'm going to America. 

William. You don't say so? 

Lady Elizabeth. Yes, on my honeymoon. 

William. Oh, that will be fine. You'll be sure 
and look me up — you and your husband — won't you ? 
I'll just turn America inside out for you — and your 
husband. 

Lady Elizabeth. It may interest you to know 
that if I ever do marry, I'm going to marry an 
American. 

William. You don't say so. 

Lady Elizabeth. I do say so. 

William. Well, that's immense. You'll have me 
singing "Yankee Doodle" in a minute. I must give 
you my address. (Gives her his card.) Then — well 



98 THE CHAMPION 

i—then — ^you'll have it — you and your husband. 

Lady Elizabeth. (Reading card) 156 Elm 
Street, New Haven, Connecticut. 

William. I've a charming little home there — ^bit 
lonely sometimes — ^but you must come and see it — 

and — and your husband I suppose you'll spend 

some time in New York. 

Lady Elizabeth. Yes, but that won't be my 
permanent address. 

William. No? 

Lady Elizabeth. Shall I give it to you? 

William. Will you? 

Lady Elizabeth. (Reading card) 156 Elm 
Street, New Haven, Connecticut. 

William. Lady Elizabeth! 

Lady Elizabeth. Yes? 

William. You don't say so! 

Lady Elizabeth. I do say so. 

William. (About to embrace her, takes ring out 
of his pocket, puts it on her finger) Back to the 
ring! Lady Gunboat Williams. 

Lady Elizabeth. I'll say so! {They embrace.) 

CURTAIN 



BILLETED. 

A comedy in 3 acts, by F. Tennison Jewe and H. Harwood- 4 
males, 5 females. One easy interior seen-. A charming: comedy, 
constructed with tmcommon skill, and abounds with clever lines. 
Margaret Anglin's bi^? success. Amateurs will find this comedy easy 
to produce and popular with all audiences. Price, 60 Cents. 

NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. 

A comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, 6 females. 
Costumes, modem. Two interior scenes. Plays 2H hours. 

Is it possible to tell the absolute truth— even for twenty-four hours? 
It is — at least Bob Bennett, the hero of "Nothing But the Truth," 
accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his business partners, 
and the trouble he got into — with his partners, his friends, and bis 
fiancee — this is the subject cf William Collier's tremendous comedy 
tit. "Nothing But the Truth" can be whole-heartedly recommended 
as one of the most sprightly, amusing: and popular comedies that this 
oomitry can boast. Price, 60 Cents. 

IN WALKED JIMMY. 

A coni6dy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z. Jaffa. 10 males, 7 females (al- 
though any number of males and females may be used as clerks, 
«tc.). Two interior scenes. Costumes, modern. P'ays 2}4 hours. 
The thing into which Jimmy walked was a broken-dorm shoe factory, 
when the clerks had all been fired, and when the proprietor was m 
serious contemplation cf suicide. 

Jimmy, nothmg else but plain Jimmy, would have been a my^teriocis 
fi^rr had it not been for his matter-of-fact manner, his smile end 
bis everlasting humanness. He put the shoe business on its feet, won 
the heart of the girl clerk, saved her erring brother from iail, escaped 
that place as a permanent boarding house himself, and foiled the 
villain. 

Clean, wholesome comedy with jnst a touch of human nature, just 
a dash of excitement and more than a little bit of true philosophy 
make "In Walked Jimmy" one rf the most delightful of plays. 
Jimmy is full of the religion of life, the religion of happiness and 
the religion of helpfulness, and he so permeates the atmosphere with 
his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of optimism, good 
cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the play. There is net a dull 
moment in any of the four acts. We strongly recommend it. 

Price, 60 Cents. 



MARTHA BY-THE-DAY. 

An optimistic comedy in three acts, by TuHe M. Lippmann, author 
of the ''Martha" stories. 5 males, 5 females. Three interior "^ 



Costranes modem. Plays 2^i hours. 

It is altogether a gentle thtiig, this play. It is full of quaint hu- 
mor, old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people who see 
the play will recall and chuckle over to-morrow and the next day. 

Miss Lippmann has herself adapted her very successful book for 
stage service, and in doing this has selected from her novel the moat 
telling incidents, infectious comedy rnd homely sentircent for the 
play, and the result is thoroughly delightful. Price, 60 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 Weit 38th Street, New York City 

Ntw and Explicit Descriptive CatHogoe Mailed Free on Request 



BOROTHY»S NEIGHBORS. 

plITs 4 m.).JTf ?^ Sunshine." and many other successful 
piays. 4 males 7 females. The scenes are extremely easv tn 

2S°^tl'e*rwotSr ;r"'°-n ^"^ °"^ ^;^*^"°^- - ^-d- or^ if ncceS 
Ss. >ntenors will answer. Costumes modem. Plays 2J5 

cJs55;^l^L^. ^he^^Ts^riSrd Se^"^alth^"'^'-* "^^ ^^^^^^ ^- 
loSc^'lnd^ l^tJ^^^^^' ^'^H^tJon and snappy dialogue there is good 
attention n?th? ™°'^' ^" '^'' P^^"^ P^^^' ^^ich is worthy the 
attention of the experienced amateur. It is a clean wholesom/n1»J^ 
particularly suited to hi^h schooj production. ' Pricer^rCents! 

MISS SOMEBODY ELSE. 

Trv^.l,^"^*'''" ^}^^ i? ^"'^'^ ^""^^ ^y Marion Short, author of "The 

This delightful comedy has gripping dramatic mcment<. unusual 
t£Z I^r\ ^ f''^f^ frl^ °"^^^^^ P'°t ^"d is essentfally mS 
,t..n^ B.r^ ^'•^at"^,";?^- ., The story concerns the advetures of Con? 

S^7on7lk^\rtr^^''''^'''' ^"""? ^^''§^'''- Constance em- 
Darks on a trip to find a young man who had been in her father's 
employ and had stolen a large sum of money. She almost succeeds 

rhe'meets^?.'^.""ir/^' °/ '^^ ^^^^^ ™an are lost At thlpo^t 
order tn, 'r% ^^'^ friends who ere living in almost want and. in 
c/?v T, ^^'''^ ^^^"^ through motives benevolent, she determines to 
inllr; r" ?"^t°"-^t[^ personality in that of a refined butTumbI? 
httle Irish waitress with the family that are in want. She not only 
Smi?.- r^^ "^1.^.*° ^"'''^^,^^ '" assisting the family, but finds 
hS^TrL^n ^^,^^;^^^^ ^d ively adventure during the period of 
her fath^er 'T\'''^^^'°^•'^?'V,""f 1^? ^^""2 "^^"^ ^^-^ l^^d defrauded 
StLtfoif;r,7^ -°7 '' ^"" of bright comedy lines and dramatic 
ff^l^l and IS nignly recommended for amateur production. This 
hJf f 1 u <^°™edies we have ever offered with a large num- 
Jf ,^- ^^T'^ characters The dialogue is bright and the play is fSl 
of action from start to finish; not a dull moment in it. This is a 

^m\STJ^V°' ^'^? ''^r^' ^l'^ "°"^^^^ ^"d the wholesome s or? 
wm please the parents and teachers. We strongly recommend it. 

Price, 30 Centa, 

PURPLE AND FINE LINEN. 

An exceptionally pretty comedy of Puritan New England, in thre« 
acts, by Amita B. Fairgrievc and Helena Miller. 9 male. 5 female 
characters. 

This is the Lend A Hand Smith College yrize play. It is an ad- 
mirable play for amateurs, is rich in character portrayal of varied 
types and is not too difficult while thoroughly pleasing. 

Price, 30 Cents, 
(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 

\jv\^l SAMUEL FRENCH. 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City 

Itow 88d Explicit OescripUvs Catalogue MaUsd Free on Raqntl 



THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY. 

The faokous comedy itt three aets, hj Anae Warner. 7 nalcs, 6 
femaleG. Three interior scenes. Costumes modem. Plays 2H fcours. 

This is a genuinely funny coaatdy with splendid parts for "Atint 
Mary," "Jack," her lively nephew; "Lucinda," a New England an- 
cient maid of all work; "Jack's" three chums; the Girl "Jack" loves; 
"Joslna." Aunt Mary's hi«ed man, etc. 

"Avat Mary" was played by May Robson in New York and on tour 
for o<r«r two years and it is sure to be a big success wherever pro- 
d««<a. We ttrongljr reconuBcnd it. Price, 66 Ccmts. 



MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. 

A piMiiaar eomedy, in three aets^ by Harry James Smitib, author of 
"Tke Tafic»'-Made Man." 6 males, 6 females. One interior scene. 
CotHDmes modem. Plays 2|^ hours. 

Mr. Smith chose for his initial comedy the complications arising 
from the endeavors of a social climber to land herself in the altitude 
pW^tled by hyphenated names — a theme permitting innumerable com- 
p&cations, according to the spirit of the writer. 

This most successful comedy was toured for several seasons by Mrs. 
l^^e with enormous success. , Price, 60 Cents. 



MRS. TEMPLE'S TELEGRAM. 

A most successful farce in three acts, by Frank Wyatt and WS- 
liam Morris. S males, 4 females. One interior scene stands through- 
out the three acts. Costumes modem. Plays 2yi hours. 

"Mrs. Temple's Telegram" is a sprightly farce in which there is 
an abundance of fun without any taint of impropriety or any •!•- 
meat of ofiFence. As noticed by Sir Walter Scott, "Oh, what a 
taaglod web we weave when first we practice to deceive." 

T^ere is not a dull moment in the entire farce, and fr»m the time 
the curtain rises until it makes the final drop the fun is fast and 
fnriotw. A very exceptional farce. Price, 60 Cents. 



THE NEW CO-ED. 

A e^mtir in four aets, by Marie Doran, author «! "Tempeat aad 
StuMlMM." etc. Characters, 4 males, 7 females, tfaoQgti any number 
of boys and girls can be introduced in the action of At play. One 
iaterier and one exterior scene, but can be ea^y played in one inte- 
rior scene. Costumes modern. Time, about 2 hours. 

Tbe theme *J this play is the eoming of a new student to tbe eol- 
le^ her reception by the scholars, her trials and final triumph. 

Tbere are three especially good girls' parts, Let^, Madge and 
EsteUe, but the others have plenty to do. "Punch" Doolittle and 
George Washington Watts, a gentleman of color, are two particularly 
good comedy characters. We can strongly recommend "The New 
Co-Ed" to high schools and amateurs. Price, 30 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Prod4Jccd) 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 3«th Stnti., New York Oty 

New and Explicit Descriprhn Cttalofm llaiM Fret ii Ri 



FRENCH'S 
Standard Library Edition 

Includes Plays by 



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Richard Harding Davis 

Sir Arthur W. Pinero 

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H. V. Esmond 

BSark Swan 

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Booth TarkingtOB 
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Israel Zangwill 
Henry Bernstein 
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Channing Pollock 
Harry Durant 
Winchell Smith 
Margaret Mayo 
Edward Peple 
A. E. W. Mason 
Charles Klein 
Henry Arthur Jones 
A. £. Thomas 
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Cyril Harcourt 
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Harry James Smith 
Edgar Selwyn 
Augustin McHugh 
Robert Housom 
Charles Kenyon 
C. M. S. McLellan 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 929 065 7 



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